Learning to Love
by Damian
Summary: Once upon a time, a young Princess lived in a shining castle, a small town boy wanted to escape and fulfill his own dreams and a house of enchanted objects were at their wits ends trying to bring them together. This is BatB as you've never seen it before
1. A Princess in Solitude

**Learning to Love**

"The hardest thing you'll ever learn is just to love and be loved in return."

**Chapter 1** – **A Princess in Solitude**

_Once upon a time, in a far away land, a young princess lived in a shining castle. Although she had everything her heart desired, the princess was spoiled, selfish and unkind._

Princess Alexandrina had her uncle at his wits end again. As King of France, he should be above dealing with a stubborn and recalcitrant little brat. But no, the problem of little Alix was squarely in his lap once again. It was not that she actively went out to cause trouble; she was far more insidious than that. Ever since her parents had been killed, over a year ago, she had ended up in his care and he been doing his best to turn her into a proper young woman. The ten-year-old princess, however, had other ideas. She rarely showed up for any of her lessons and her tutors spent much of their time hunting for the girl. Sooner or later, she would be discovered hidden behind the curtains in the library or curled up behind a haystack in the stable. She was never rude, never lost her temper; she just smiled sweetly at the irritated men and women and asked them to please go away, she had no interest in learning anything they had to teach her.

Today was simply the straw that broke the camels back. The Queen had decided to accompany Alexandrina to her lessons, which meant the girl had no choice but to attend. Her Majesty watched with narrowed eyes as Alexandrina, who was usually so graceful, stepped on her dancing master's toes until they were black and blue. The narrowed eyes intensified as the princess spilled ink all over the poor man assigned to impart in her the basics of knowledge that a princess would expected to know. And by the tenth time Alexandrina gave the incorrect answer as to how a princess should address a Vicomte, the poor Queen gave up and dragged the princess before the King. His Majesty gave her a stern lecture on proper behavior, and then sent her to her room with an escort of five royal guards. Alix went almost happily; glad to be excused from her singing lessons later that afternoon.

"I don't care what you do with the girl," the Queen said to her husband, verging on tears, "But I will not allow her to remain at this court. She has frightened away, to my count, twelve tutors, eight lady's maids and nearly forty noble girls who were simply trying to be kind." The King opened his mouth to say something, but his wife would not give him the chance. "I understand that she is grieving, but this cannot go on. She is giving us a bad name and what sort of bride will we be able to find for our son if word gets out that the women at court behave so badly?"

"What do you propose we do then, my dear?" the King answered with a heavy sigh.

"Send her away," answered the Queen decisively. "The summer castle near the Swiss border, Le Château du Lac. It has not been used in ages, she can live there."

"I promised my dead brother that I would take care of her," the King said doubtfully.

"And so you will," answered the Queen soothingly. "I don't propose we send her alone; she will have a full staff of servants who will be more than capable of looking after a girl of her age."

"And her tutelage?"

"Give her a few months alone out there to get over her grief and appreciate being alone. She'll develop an appreciation for companionship there and, when we check on her in the summer, she'll be far more pliable and willing to do as we wish in order to return home."

The King stroked his well-groomed beard. "I see no real problems with your plan, my darling. She is a troublemaker, to be sure, but she is young. You may be right; some months of solitude might be just the answer."

And not even two weeks later, Princess Alexandrina found herself being bundled into a carriage with a large and rather imposing woman graced with the large and rather imposing name of Madame de la Grande Bouche. She was to serve as head maid for the Princess Alexandrina. Parading out behind them were several other carriages, filled with everything and everyone the Queen thought a young princess would need in exile. Alix stared morosely out the carriage window, pretending to be perfectly uninterested as her life was cheerfully arranged around her to make the young princess as little of a problem as she could be.

The trip through France took nearly a fortnight. Alexandrina had discovered a new game. If one does everything one is supposed to, but with a slightly devious smile on one's face, it had almost as good an effect on those around one as actually misbehaving. Every night Madame de la Grande Bouche went to sleep with the hope that she will not awaken to find frogs or lice in her bed and those were the least egregious of the Ten Plagues which could have shown up. Cogsworth, who was the new head of household, confronted his new mistress sometime during the second day of travel and left the interview so shaken that he actually touched alcohol that night in order to soothe his troubled mind. He did not actually drink it, mind you, but he gesticulated wildly with the glass as he attempted to clarify what was so terrifying about the little girl.

It was not, as he explained, that she was scary. But he had seen many children in his life and never before had he laid eyes on a creature so cold and withdrawn. And when he, in his pompous but good-hearted way, had tried to be kind to her and not treat her as just a faraway mistress, she sweetly asked him if he was so unaware of his role that he needed to ask a ten-year-old what to do?

There was some good-natured amusement at Cogsworth's expense, especially by the maitre'd Lumiere, but no one else seemed anxious to approach the young girl and see what she said to them. There was something eerie about a child so young who was so capable of wounding others. They whispered behind her back; the stories of her tragedy and anguish circling like wildfire.

One by one, the women of her household tried to befriend the lonely little girl and, one by one, she pushed them all away. By the time they reached the palace, even Madame de la Grande Bouche had given up on trying to reach her. Alexandrina had a heart of stone and a will of iron and no interest whatsoever in letting anyone become important to her ever again.

_But then, one winter's night, an old beggar-woman came to the castle and offered her a single rose, in return for shelter from the bitter cold._

Time passed slowly in the Château du Lac. Alexandrina spent her time exploring the castle and the lands beyond. She could often be found out riding, with her hair loose in the breeze and her eyes wild with joy. If asked, she would say that she was happier alone, without needing anyone or letting anyone need her. But she was never asked.

The library was also a source of entertainment for her. Alexandrina read voraciously, devouring all the books she could get her hands on. She would read almost anything, but had a special fondness for the histories and the ancient worlds that they described. They were a home in which she could completely lose herself which bore no resemblance to her own. Lost thousands of years before she was born, they held no danger for her.

It was nearing midnight, one cold night in February, when there came a hesitant knock on the door. Alexandrina was sitting down in the servant's kitchen, where the fire burned merrily and the scones were plentiful. When she had first begun this practice, Madame de la Grande Bouche tried to dissuade her and convince Alexandrina that princesses did not sit in the kitchens. Alexandrina listened politely and then informed Madame de la Grande Bouche that since she, Alexandrina, was a princess and was clearly sitting in the kitchen, princesses did, in fact, sit there and reminded her that ladies maids did not correct their mistresses and, if Madame continued to do so, she would not remain a ladies maid for long.

The fire had burned down low and the teapot at Alexandrina's side, left there kindly by the head cook, had long since stewed to the point where it was undrinkable. Alix, however, was entirely engrossed in her exploration of ancient Greece through the eyes of her new role model, Odysseus. That was the reason she did not hear the gentle knock on the door. By the third knock, which sounded more like a thunderbolt from Zeus himself, Alix was fully aware that someone was outside the servant's entrance. She sat back and waited in hope that one of the myriad servants that crept around the castle like industrious ants would come and get the door. They didn't.

Alix stretched her legs and put her feet back into her fur-lined slippers. She was going to go wake up one of the sleeping servants when an idea struck her. This was, after all, her castle. There was no reason she should need any of them to open a door for her.

The person outside had not stopped hammering on the door and the sound was beginning to give Alix a headache. She stomped, as best as she could in fuzzy slippers, over to the door and, with a great effort, unbolted it. With all her eleven years worth of strength, she heaved the great oaken door open and glared unkindly at the stooped old woman shivering before her.

"What do you want?" Alexandrina demanded in her best Princess voice, clutching her thick, woolen dressing-gown closer to try and keep out the bitter winter chill.

"A warm place to stay for the night," answered the old woman, teeth chattering. "I've been out here for far too long and I fear I will not survive the night without shelter."

Alexandrina drew herself up to her full height, which put her an inch over the stooped crone and looked into her wizened face. "Why should I help you?" she asked the old woman in a soft voice.

"I will give you this rose," answered the old woman, producing a perfect red blossom from beneath her tattered robes. Alix stared at it, spellbound. She had never seen a flower of such perfect beauty. The red of the rose was as pure as the color could be and she thought she could actually see dewdrops glittering like diamonds on the petals. And then she pulled away, angry that she had even been taken in.

_Repulsed by her haggard appearance, the princess refused the gift and turned the old woman away. But she warned her not to be deceived by appearances, for beauty is found within._

"For _that_ rose, I will be generous," Alexandrina answered with what would have been a snarl in a more frightening creature. "The stables are just around the corner. I'm sure you can sneak in and spend a comfortable night in the hay with the horses."

"Lady, I don't have the strength to take another step, I beg you to-"

"To what? Let you into my home, my life? Why should I allow a hideous creature like you into this castle? What worth do you have, you stupid hag?" Alix was tired and angry and her only experience with cold in her life had been some snowball fights with her parents before their death. She knew little about the icy chill of winter and the dangers of frostbite. Like the mythical beasts and enchantresses she read in her books, she thought such things like dying from the cold were the inventions of creative writers.

"You judge my worth by my beauty?" the old woman asked.

"No, I judge your worth by how useful you are to me. You can't give me anything, anything at all!"

"Such a sad, lonely, child," the witch crooned. "You could be happy by now, you know. You do not need to be locked away in this cold and lonely castle with no friends and no one who cares. But you decided you wanted it that, way, didn't you?"

Alix stared at the old woman, mesmerized by her voice. "Your parents died so you shut yourself away and decided you would never have human companionship again is that it?"

Alix gasped. "How do you…who _are_ you?"

_And when she dismissed her again, the old woman's ugliness melted away to reveal a beautiful enchantress. The Princess tried to apologize, but it was too late, for she had seen that there was no love in her heart_.

"Why," said the old woman, "I am nothing, worthless, unable to give you anything at all." As the woman spoke, she seemed to grow in height, rising up until she towered above Alexandrina by at least three feet. Her ragged cloak blew out behind her in a gust of warm wind and the air itself shimmered as the decrepit old hag transformed into the most beautiful woman Alix had ever seen. Her hair was long and honey blond, making Alix's own golden locks seem dull as dross by comparison. Her eyes shown verdant, like emeralds, and her gown appeared to have been sewn from the misty green foam of the sea and it danced around her in waves.

Alexandrina may not have paid that much attention during her lectures, but she knew power when she saw it. "Forgive me, I didn't know!" she whimpered, falling to her knees. "I had thought enchantresses were myths and fairy tales, if I had known who you were, I would have never-"

"Never what?" interrupted the enchantress in a voice as clear and cold as glass. "Never thrown out a poor, old woman on a dangerous night like this. I am an enchantress, as you guessed, what need have I for your pitiful hospitality?"

"Then why were you here?"

The enchantress laughed. "Rumors of a sad and suffering princess had reached my ears and I came to see what I could do for her. Yet it is no sad and suffering princess that I find, but an arrogant, royal brat with no thought for anyone but herself and no interest in anything but being left alone. You wish to be away from all humans, is that it?"

"No!" Alix protested, sobbing and clutching at the enchantress's gown. "You said you could help me, can you please help me? Can you give me back my parents, please?"

The enchantress looked down at her with a stony gaze. "Why should I take pity on you?" she asked coldly. "You made your bed, now lie in it. Henceforth, there will be no human presence in this castle. And she clapped her hands together with a sound like thunder.

_As punishment, she transformed her into a hideous beast and placed a powerful spell on the castle and all who lived there_.

Alexandrina screamed as the spell took hold. It was surprisingly painless, watching her hands lengthen and cover themselves with dark brown fur. She felt, rather than saw, her nose change shape and two long fangs grow up from her bottom teeth. She tried to get to her feet, but found that there was something wrong with her knees and her back and something long and swishy kept getting in the way. She grabbed the tail angrily then howled in pain as she realized it was now a part of her. Alix dropped to all fours and ran through the castle, destroying everything she could find in her rampage.

All over the castle, servants were awakening to find themselves in the most peculiar of predicaments. Lumiere was, by far, the worst off. He had become a candelabrum and was currently engaged in putting out the flaming mess that his new hands had created out of his silk bed sheets. He would later be grateful that his _amour_ was not present at the time, for the feather duster might have been burnt as well.

Cogsworth was panicking, simply because it was really the only natural reaction upon being turned into an enchanted object. He was running around, ticking madly and trying to find a way to open a door with a handle that was now three feet above his head.

There were screams and shouts coming from all four corners of the place. The souse chef was flaming mad to have woken up as a broiler and even the usually unflappable Madame de la Grande Bouche was causing quite the commotion while she lumbered around Alexandrina's rooms as a wardrobe and tried to find a mirror to look into that was not now part of her body. She got one good look at herself before Alix came racing in.

_Ashamed of her monstrous form, the Beast concealed herself inside her castle with a magic mirror as her only window to the outside world._

By the time Alexandrina was done, there were no pictures or mirrors left in the castle. She had destroyed them all, either by shattering them with her powerful paws or tearing through them with tooth and nail. She wanted to erase every memory of what was before, everything that could remind her that her solitude was not of her own devising and not perfectly normal. She would not harm any of the people, though. The thought of destroying them all had occurred to her once, but she was not a killer and still saw each and every enchanted object as a servant. Her parents had spent nine long years ingraining into her that servants were there to be used, not abused. And even in her greatest anger, she had never raised a finger against someone in her employ—she could not without hearing her mother's voice lecturing her and breaking down into sobs. So while she would ignore them and hate them, she could not hurt them.

After her magnificent destruction of anything and everything she could find, the princess retreated to her bedroom in the West Wing. Resting on an end table, by the balcony, was a hand held mirror that Alix did not remember owning. She picked it up in order to destroy that one too, but a chillingly familiar voice stopped her.

"I wouldn't do that, if I were you," said the Enchantress.

"Where are you?" Alix asked, spinning around wildly in search of the woman. "Why can't I see you?"

"Look in the mirror." Alix did as she was bade, albeit slowly for she dreaded to see her own visage. It was not her own face that stared out at her, however, but that of the enchantress. "This is my first gift to you," said the enchantress. "This mirror has the power to show you anything in the world, anything you should ever wish to see. It will allow you to keep track of all that you wish without ever setting foot outside these castle walls."

Alexandrina raised her fist to shatter it anyway. "And it's unbreakable," the enchantress added. "Just in case your beastly strength becomes too much for you."

Alix dropped it on the ground, a small spark of hope still present that it would shatter after all, but she had no such luck. She began to walk slowly away.

"My second gift," continued the enchantress, "Is this rose." Alexandrina turned around helplessly to gaze at the flawless flower that had first drawn her in. "Let it serve as a reminder to you of the beautiful outside world which you have rejected. _This rose is truly an enchanted rose, which will bloom until your twenty-first year. If you can learn to love another and earn his love in return by the time the last petal falls, then the spell will be broken. If not, you will be doomed to remain a beast for all time_."

And then the enchantress was gone, as surely as if Alexandrina had seen her walk out of the room.

Alix roared in pain, shaking as she stared at the glass-covered rose. She was so angry at the witch for giving her this terrible way out and this end to her solitude. She did not want to learn to love anyone. And yet the small seed of hope had already been planted in her heart, and was plaintively asking if maybe falling in love was not so bad after all. And she wondered if she would ever even have a chance to find out.

_As the years past, she fell into despair and lost all hope. For who could ever learn to love a beast?_

_**T.B.C.**_

A/N – I am, clearly, not the first person to have ever had this idea. Nor is this the first time I have ever switched the gender roles in Beauty and the Beast. Nor will it be the last time, if one of the novels I'm working on ever sees the light of day. Those, however, are non-Disney versions of the tale. (shameless plug)The link to my first treatment of the tale, Eva's Roses, is on my profile page(/shameless plug).

The inspiration for this came from a thread on the BatB fanforum, Bittersweet and Strange. If you have yet to discover that, go to the following http://z6. bittersweetstrange/index. php?actidx except without the spaces. Two members there, Trudirose and Nyxity, were discussing a version of beauty and the beast with the genders switched that would actually explore how the story would/could happen differently. That is to say, not just switching the words he and she, but actually trying to tell a new tale as old as time. So this is my attempt to do just that.

A couple of notes first.

1) I don't think blaming parental death for the beast's problems was originally my idea, but I don't know where it is from. If anyone can figure out where I might have picked it up from, do let me know.

2) Naming the Beast Alexandrina is a nod to Bittersweet and Strange. If you get it, excellent! If you don't, go read the RP going on there.

3) My beast can read and, more importantly, is capable of doing so. While the scene in Human Again was adorable, I didn't really think it made all that much sense. (he's a prince, why in heaven's name can't he read!?) So my Beast is a bit of a bookworm.

There will probably be this sort of explanation at the end of each chapter (for one thing, "Gastonette" might be a bit confusing if I don't clarify). Until then, adieu and, as always reviews are much appreciated and are food for the authorian soul (kinda like this box of cheez-its I'm currently devouring).

Damian


	2. A Quiet Village

**Chapter 2 – A Quiet Village**

Time passed slowly in the Château du Lac. Weeks turned into months, months turned into years and, while the world outside continued its inexorable journey into the future, the little castle seemed to stand still in time. It was forgotten by all and ignored even by the villagers nearby, who used to look forward to the sporadic arrival of their monarchs. But now, nothing exciting ever happened in these little towns. They continued with their daily chores and tasks, snapping out of this cycle they were in once or twice a year to head over to the nearest fair. But mostly, they kept to themselves and the most thrilling thing to ever happen would be the arrival of someone new to the village. And, on an unseasonably chilly day in September, someone did. Two someones, actually; a father and his son.

Maurice Dupont surveyed the small house in front of him with what could almost be termed cheerfulness. "It's not what we're used to," he remarked to the youth standing next to him, "But it's a roof over our heads and it's a sight better then staying in the city and relying on charity." Maurice looked up at his son with pleading eyes. "You _do_ think it's nice, don't you, Ger?"

Gervaise Dupont smiled as best he could. "I'm sure it will just take some getting used to, Papa," he said brightly. "As soon as we unload everything and get set up, it will feel just like home…only with fewer corridors to get where you need to go."

"That's my boy," said Maurice proudly. "Now, help me unload the wagon, I want to get my workshop set up as soon as possible!" He ran to the rickety wooden thing that, despite Ger's prognostications, got them all the way to this small, provincial village called Molyneaux.

Ger followed at a slower and less exuberant pace. His father was truly excited to start life over in this new place and try to rebuild some of his dreams. Ger was…less thrilled. At seventeen, he had had great plans for himself while they had lived in the city. He was ready to make a name for himself in the University, rise through the ranks of Academia and become one of the pre-eminent scholars in the eighteenth century. He would converse with the rising stars of the generation, men like Lavoisier and Laplace, about the latest scientific discoveries and then he would surpass them all. He would be at salons with Diderot or Voltaire and be treated as an equal…

"Ger!" Maurice called, his legs trembling slightly under the weight of the giant boiler he was attempting to unload on his own, "A little help, possibly?" Ger snapped out of his daydream and leapt to go help his father before both Maurice and the boiler went toppling over and broke something. Ger lifted it easily and dumped it rather ungraciously by the entrance to the cellar, where his father had already decided the workroom would be. His plans of greatness were on hiatus now, as they had been ever since _the_ catastrophe. That one little mistake that had driven them from their home, their life and their dreams.

Ger went back to finish unloading the myriad contraptions stuffed in the back of the cart that his father either could not bear to part with or could not convince anyone that they were useful enough to buy. It had been the sale of his more expensive equipment that had allowed them to buy even this ramshackle cottage in the middle of the nowhere.

Unloading the cart did not take very long, Ger might have been living in the city, but he was no lazy scholar who had never done a day's work in his life. And besides, there weren't very many belongings left to them

"Well," said Maurice, clapping his hands together. "Lets get the workroom set up!"

Ger gave his father a measuring glance. "Wouldn't it be better to take a look around the house and maybe get some food?"

Maurice laughed. "I plumb forgot about that. Yes, perhaps you're right. We should go into the village proper and meet the locals. They can tell us all about life in Molyneaux; I'm sure it will be just as exciting as in Paris." Ger was unconvinced.

Their first excursion into the little town was a qualified success. The locals were cautious, but kind, and the Duponts found that they were well provisioned for at least the next week. Maurice introduced himself as an inventor lately of the University of Paris and, if pressed, would admit he rather enjoyed the looks of awe from his fellow townsmen. Ger, who had always been the more perceptive of the two, noticed the worry beneath their gazes and the whispers that followed them wherever they went. He wanted to put it down to simple curiosity about the first newcomers in Molyneaux in ages, but feared it went deeper than that. He and his father were city folk, made for the bright lights and brilliance of Paris, not the countryside where you were considered a scholar if you knew how to write more than your own name. Though Maurice was putting on a brave front, Ger knew his father would miss being the Professor of Physics and of having his coterie of students follow him around and hang on his every word. And he wasn't the only one who missed the opportunities provided by a life in the city.

What Ger didn't notice, as he watched resolutely for any sign of displeasure at his father's presence, were the looks that he himself were garnering from all the women of the town who were either young or single and some that were neither. They oohed and ahhed over his thick, wavy hair that had a tendency to fall in front of his eyes and that he had a tendency to bat aside in an "adorable" manner. His eyes, they remarked, were brown, but brown in such a way that reminded them of shining satin. And his smile…they could die for his smile.

Ger noticed none of this as he wandered through the town and learned where all the important stores were, such as the butcher's, the baker's and the bookseller's. He marveled at the difference in price between a oaf of bread out here and in Paris. And he restrained himself very admirably in the bookstore, buying only the books he thought would be useful in their exile, with one exception. He purchased a copy of _Candide_ to replace the leather bound and gold embossed copy he had had to sell at the auction but a few weeks ago.

Ger and Maurice returned to the small cottage on the outskirts of Molyneaux and Ger set about the task of learning to cook. One of his purchases had been a manual on preparing foods that was clearly not written for him or anyone male, for that manner, but he would make do. And he and his father would not starve if they had to live on burnt meat and runny eggs for a few days until Ger got the hang of things. And he was determined to get the hang of things.

As soon as the newcomers disappeared back over the footbridge, the gossip took off like a flock of birds into which someone had thrown a stone.

The oddness of the new arrivals took them all by storm. No one really knew what physics was or what it meant to be a professor thereof; the general consensus was that Maurice studied some sort of strange healing arts and was probably best left alone. The speculation was, of course, about what a "Professor of Physics" could _do_ to get himself thrown out of the University and land in a place like Molyneaux. While the citizens of the town had a very high opinion of themselves and knew that they were, if not better than at least equal to any man or woman in Paris, they were aware that not everyone else necessarily agreed with that view and Maurice struck them as the sort of man who would see moving to Molyneaux as a comedown.

"You see," said the baker's wife to the fishmonger, "It isn't surprising that a man might want some time away from the schoolroom, but why would he come here? Is there something special about the physics of out town that he wishes to see? In any case, he has better leave the children well enough alone."

The fishmonger laughed. "I don't think he'll be much of a danger," he replied. "Not that I would recommend getting close to him or anything, Christ only knows what sort of "physics" he might do," and they both crossed themselves, "but he seems rather weak, after all. We could easily take him."

"What about the son?" reminded the baker's wife.

"Yes, what about him?" murmured a voice at her elbow. She turned to see three lovely blond maidens staring at them and hanging onto her every word.

"Shoo," she said, batting them away as if they were simply confused chickens, which would not be an entirely inaccurate decision. "None of us knows a thing about him and its best if we keep it that way."

The three girls looked at one another, their eyes bright with tears. "But, but,"

"Now run along," said the fishmonger good-naturedly. "I'm sure you'll see him around again soon."

The girls did run along, scampering off to the tavern to share their information about the new arrival.

"There go the three silliest girls in the neighborhood," said the baker's wife and the fishmonger had to agree.

"Genevieve, Genevieve," shouted the girls as they burst into the tavern. "Oh, Genevieve, we have such news to tell you!"

"Indeed," came a sweet voice from the chair in the middle of the room. The chair was a large, high backed armchair that was covered in red velvet and looked like the throne of a princess. But the chair's beauty paled in comparison to its occupant. She was a girl with ivory skin and ebony hair that would have made Snow White blush with envy, with red lips that would make Sleeping Beauty run back to her fairy godmothers in tears and with eyes so blue as to make the very sky itself chase away every cloud in a vain attempt to compete. And Genevieve Avenant knew it.

"Yes, you would not believe who arrived in town today," said Raisse, the eldest of the three blond girls. She clasped her hands in her pink skirts and sank onto a stool beside Genevieve.

"A newcomer?" Genevieve asked, arching one perfect eyebrow.

"Yes," the second responded, whose name was Doreen. She smiled at Genevieve as she carefully straightened the butter yellow bow in her hair. "A handsome newcomer."

"With the most beautiful brown hair and eyes," added Aveline, the third, youngest and perhaps silliest of all three.

"Brown eyes?" Genevieve repeated. "And you still find him attractive? Then he must truly be a sight to see."

"Oh, he is, Genevieve," they all assured her, "He is."

Genevieve smiled, her eyes shining like a hunter who just spotted his first buck of the season. "Then we shall look for this newcomer tonight in the tavern. Think, girls, how nice it would be to finally have someone in this town worthy of having me on his arm…is he rich?"

The three girls looked at each other in consternation. They had completely forgotten to find out about that.

Genevieve glared at them. "How do you expect me to do anything around here if you can't even manage a simple task such as finding out the essentials. For Heaven's sake, even Laliene can do a better job than that! Laliene, come here!"

There was a crash, a tumble and a thud and then another girl came flying into view, skidding to a stop in front of Genevieve. "I'm here, I'm here!" said Laliene happily. "Did you need me for something, Genevieve?"

Genevieve rolled her eyes. "Of course I do, you dolt, why else would I have called for you? Now, I need you to go outside and find out all you can about…" Genevieve paused and turned towards the triplets again. "What did you say out newcomer's name was?"

"Umm," said Aveline.

"Err," continued Doreen.

"Ger!" said Raisse, who was, perhaps, the brightest of the bunch. "His name was Ger."

Genevieve shook her head. It really was taxing, sometimes, being the best. It meant you had to deal with everyone else and they all were second rate compared to her. She examined her finger nails while Aveline, Doreen and Raisse bickered over what the man's last name was and Laliene eye's darted back and forth as her poor brain tried to take in as much as it could.

"Quiet!" Genevieve barked. "You're giving me a headache."

Almost immediately, all four girls had lowered their voices to the softest whisper and were apologizing profusely.

"Now," continued Genevieve, favoring them with her smile once more, "Laliene will go out and garner what information she can. I would go myself, but it would not do for me to seem too interested in him. After all, girls, we want the men to come to us, not the other way around." The girls nodded in agreement. After all, it was a well-known fact that, sooner or later, all men would fall at the feet of the fair Genevieve. It was simply a matter of when.

To the surprise of all, neither Ger nor his father made an appearance at the tavern that night. Or the night afterwards. Laliene was doing her best to find out why the newcomers had yet to appear, but as she was not quite the sharpest maid in the village, she discovered little that was not common knowledge. Everyone knew that the Duponts were come from Paris, where they had had a huge fortune from dabbling in strange knowledge. Rumors said that the fortune had been paid to the King to keep him from beheading them or paid to a demon to prevent him from doing worse. Some even said that the fortune was with them still, buried under the old cottage by the water wheel. Raisse, Doreen and Aveline were thrilled and set atremble to hear of these tales, but Genevieve found them boring. Clearly, everyone was making a bigger deal of these men than was truly necessary. She, however, believed none of this nonsense and declared that she would be unsurprised if Ger turned out to be a plain, city-boy with no looks to speak of. That did not keep her from waiting each night, elegantly arrayed in her favorite chair, for him to enter. After the third day, she was getting impatient. Though he had not met her yet, surely Ger knew better than to keep waiting. _Someone_ must have informed him that she wished to meet with him by now. So she decided to take matters into her own hands.

It was just after dawn on the fourth day when the Duponts ran out of eggs. Maurice seemed unaware of this development and continued on his normal morning routine, but Ger noticed. He thought they had purchased enough for the week, but apparently eggs went bad after three days. With a sigh that suggested Ger was not excited to find out what other tidbits of information living in Paris has _not_ taught him, he set off towards the village in order to pick up some eggs and, if they were really lucky, find someone from whom he could buy a hen or three.

He was drawing level with the first real shop in the village when a strange woman accosted him.

"Bonjour, monsieur," said the woman sweetly.

"Bonjour mademoiselle," he answered and kept walking. He was distracted by the new machine his father was purportedly building—a device that allowed one to write two copies of a missive simultaneously. Of course, the device was still in its preliminary stages, but Ger was sure his father would get the hang of it soon and stop tracking charcoal throughout the house soon afterwards.

Genevieve stared at his retreating back in disbelief. She had to give him credit, it was a very nice retreating back and quite a joy to watch his muscles move as he walked, but that did not excuse his actions. He was walking away from her! He was actually continuing on his way as if nothing more interesting than, well, an _average_ girl had just passed by. Genevieve gritted her teeth. This was not to be borne.

She gathered her skirts and stomped after Ger. She planted herself smack in front of him; causing him to draw up short a moment before his foot came crashing down on hers.

"Mademoiselle?" he asked, just a hint of impatience in his voice.

"I wished to welcome you to Molyneaux," said Genevieve, schooling her face into her sweetest smile. "My name is Genevieve, Avenant."

"A pleasure to meet you," Ger replied automatically.

"Yes," said Genevieve, "I'm sure it is."

There was a moment's pause as Ger tried to think of something to say in response and could not. Finally, he settled for "My name is Gervaise Dupont. Could you, possibly, direct me to a store where I can buy some laying hens?"

"Of course I can," Genevieve answered. "Right this way."

They walked for a while in silence. Ger gratefully resumed his ruminations about the invention and Genevieve was well occupied in studying Ger's features. Doreen had not been lying when she called him handsome. He was very well built, with an easy grace that put her in mind of a sleek tomcat. His hair and eyes were as beautiful as Aveline had claimed, though she had left out his aquiline nose and strong chin. His chest was broad, his waist was slim, his skin was light, but not pasty. All in all, he was the perfect match for her. Handsome enough to have all the girls wild with jealousy, but just a little less striking than she was. After all, what would they say about her if she married a man prettier than she was? All that remained was to discover a little bit more information about that reputed fortune.

"So, I hear that you are come to us from Paris," Genevieve said, startling Ger out of his reverie for the second time in five minutes.

"Err, yes. My father was a Professor of Physics at the University before we moved here."

"Oh," said Genevieve. "I take it there were not so many beautiful women around, then."

She waited expectantly for Ger to say 'None as beautiful as you', yet he did not seem to take the hint.

"Oh, there were certainly enough hanging around the salons," Ger answered. "Now, about those hens..?"

And, unable to think of a suitable reply, Genevieve wordlessly led Ger to the proper stall. As he was paying for his purchases, Genevieve made one last attempt to catch his attention.

"I think you would be interested in coming to the tavern tonight."

"Oh," said Ger politely. "Why is that?"

"Well, _I'll_ be there. And some other people, I suppose."

Ger shrugged. "Perhaps. But my father is working on a fascinating new machine, so I don't really know if I'll have time. It was nice to meet you though, Genevieve."

And he walked back towards the little house by the bridge.

The shopkeeper chuckled. "You're going to have to work harder to reel that fish in, Mademoiselle Avenant. But don't worry, you'll catch him in the end."

Genevieve watched Ger with narrowed eyes. "Indeed I will. Nobody walks away from Genevieve Avenant."

_**T.B.C.**_

A/N – So, as usual, there are a few things I would like to either credit others for or comment on. But before I do, just a friendly warning. I write long author's notes. I don't know why, I just feel compelled to share the creative process with all of you. If you do not want to read them, by all means, please skip this and go straight to the paragraph where I beg for reviews.

The first is something for which I have to apologize. I had no idea where this story was actually going when I began it and not much more of an idea now. Oh sure, parts of the plot obviously have to occur, but the characters and how each scene plays out and such are still up in the air and I make no promises about how closely I will stick to the movie. And so I am apologizing now if I cut any characters or scenes that you think should have been in here or if I do something that you would not have done. I am only a poor writer, the vehicle for a story that is running away with me. So if you don't like the story being told through my words, all I can do is apologize and encourage you to tell your own version.

Onto some other notes!

**Alix** – Who does not, in fact appear in this chapter. I did get a few questions about this, though, so I figured I'd cover this now. Alix and Alex are two spellings of the nickname for Alixandra and Alexandra and Alexandrina, etc. The only difference is that Alex is gender neutral. Alix is always feminine (except in Greek) so I chose to use that one.

**Gervaise Dupont** – Gervaise is French for honorable. It has nothing at all to do with Belle. I, however, _hate_ the name Beau with a fiery passion (it sounds like something one names a dog!) and so I will not use it. Gervaise is nice, it nicknames well and, for those of you who have read Robin McKinley's _Beauty_, you may remember that Beauty is a nickname and the protagonist's given name was Honour. So much for intertextual referencing. The last name Dupont means by the bridge and was suggested as a possible last name for Belle on the Bittersweet and Strange fanforum, which can be found by following the link in the first chapter.

**Genevieve Avenant** – Genevieve has nothing to do with Gaston, which really just means from Gascony anyway. I like the sound of the name Genevieve and it carries with it a sense of entitlement, though I don't know why. It seemed to fit, which is all one can really ask for when naming a character. It happens to mean white wave, for those of you interested. Avenant is Gaston's last name in Trudirose's excellent fanfic _Picture This_. If you have not yet read that, you are missing out on one of the required readings for any BatB fan, so I highly encourage you to take a look. Anyway, I am considering Avenant "fanon" by now, rather like Molyneaux for the name of the town.

**Molyneaux** – As I found out all of a week ago, the name Molyneaux was first used by NeitherSparky so I will give credit where credit is due and thanks to someone who has been a longtime BatB fanfic writer.

**Raisse, Doreen and Aveline** – Those three names translate to Rose, Golden and Hazel respectively, which seemed to fit the three silly girls who tend to have color as their only distinguishing characteristic. And I could not think of a single plausible way to make them men, but still fawning over Genevieve to the extent that they do, so I kept them around as a sort of _Mean Girls_ coterie. There will be fawning over Genevieve, though, mark my words.

**Laliene** – If you put Le Fou into a French to English translator, you will get "The Insane One". If you put that back into an English to French translator, you will get L'aliéne. Thus the name was born.

More about Ger and Maurice's past will come later, but I will make my apologies for one thing now. My knowledge of 18th century academia is nonexistent. My research into the area has been…less than exhaustive. Forgive me for any inaccuracies or ridiculousness that may arise from trying to make characters do things that they would certainly not have done. There is one thing I know I am doing, however. I am glorifying the Academic world and bringing many great men into it who probably looked down on the uselessness of the University for doing anything other than providing a few years grace period before young lords needed to become men. As a current occupant of that Ivory Tower, I would like to see it raised up a little higher than its true place and, if you will forgive me for that, I will not ask silly questions about what era BatB is set in, anyway.

And I would like to thank you all for reading and reviewing, your comments and suggestions would be gratefully appreciated and even just a quick note saying you enjoyed yourself reading my work would be wonderful. And to all my noble and gracious reviewers, who come back time and time again, you have my gratitude. What would I do without you?

Damian

P.S. – I would like to apologize for the length of the author's note. This is long, even by my standards.


	3. The Life I Lead

**Chapter 3 – The Life I Lead**

Genevieve was as good as her word. Over the next few weeks, she made it her business to encounter Ger every time he set foot in town.

Ger was amazed and bemused by this behavior and, though he was grateful for her constant offers to assist him however she could, he has to admit that she was getting rather vexing.

In hew own way, Genevieve was just as bemused as Ger. The man simply did not seem to show any interest in her. She had made sure he was not blind, not suffering from any sort of insanity and even walked into the booksellers to ensure that he was not an idiot. The bookseller chuckled at that question and suggested gently that maybe Ger was not looking for a girl like Genevieve.

She stared back at him blankly. "Well, what other kind of girl would he want?"

The bookseller smiled. "A girl more like him in tastes, perhaps, who would see value in the experiments he and his father are performing and not spend all her time trying to drag him away from them. Just perhaps." The bookseller had been speaking to Ger earlier that morning and the latter had casually let it drop that Mlle. Avenant was becoming rather trying.

Genevieve considered this for a moment. "No, I don't think so. Men don't like women who are interested in things like that. They like women who are beautiful. I am beautiful, as beautiful as anyone can be. Which means there must be some other reason…" She left the shop, pondering what else could be wrong with Ger that made him so hard to catch.

Right around the time when Genevieve had decided that his ignoring her was due to nearsightedness developed from spending too much of the winter bent over dusty tomes, Maurice's latest invention was completed. The winter frosts were finally beginning to dissipate and the first of Spring's birds were beginning to warm up their voices. The two Duponts sold off their chickens, packed up what little belongings and money they had, and closed up the house. Word spread quickly around the village that they were leaving for the spring and possibly even part of the summer to compete in some Inventor's Faire near Paris.

The villagers were dumbfounded. Why anyone, after escaping from that horrid city life, would want to return for a few months was completely beyond them. But they had already decided that the Duponts were simply unfathomable. The father, while a jovial old man when he made an appearance, was rarely seen in the town and always puttering away in that workroom of his doing who-knows-what at heaven knows what hour of the night. The villagers still remembered the time that the little house had positively exploded at three in the morning. It would not have been so bad, had they actually gotten an explanation for the disaster, but all that had happened was that the boy had come into town the next day and purchased some more coal for the fire. The first and only time someone has asked him what happened, they received such an incomprehensible answer, that the entire village simply gave up on getting a straight _anything_ out of that family and went on with their daily routines.

The boy was, in some ways, the most confusing of the two. After all, as the fishmonger was heard remarking to one of his customers, Maurice had spent all his life in the university and everyone knows you can't teach an old dog new tricks. But the boy…he was young and strong and good-looking. The rest of the village lads would be more than happy to drink with him and go hunting with him, but he never seemed to show the slightest interest in those normal activities.

This was a particularly sore point for the fishmonger, whose sixteen-year-old son had invited Gervaise Dupont to join them on a hunting excursion. Ger had not actually meant any offense when he turned them down with a tone of voice that suggested Ger had no idea why anyone would want to spend so much time and energy on meat when one could just buy it from the local butcher. The poor boy, who had been rather in awe of Ger, had not really known what to do. It was as if no one has ever told Ger how a real man was supposed to behave. His father agreed: it was a pity that someone who looked like such a paragon of young manhood should turn out to be so disappointing.

All in all, the town concluded, it was for the best that the Duponts be gone for a while. Maybe it would give them some time to appreciate their good fortune in Molyneaux. Genevieve was, at first, rather miffed to find that there was such a thing as a boy who could leave her, but on reflection, realized this would all be for the best. While Ger was away, he would have time to compare her to all the other women out there and see that she, Genevieve, was in fact the best of the best.

Genevieve outlined this plan to Laliene, who thought it was a brilliant plan and told all the village that Ger was bound to return home to Molyneaux pining for Genevieve. Except for the bookseller, they all agreed. All their teenaged sons were pining for the lovely Genevieve, why should Gervaise Dupont be any exception?

Of course, when Ger and his father returned home that autumn, it seemed that the boy was still oblivious to Genevieve's charms. They trundled back into Molyneaux on the same little cart on which they had departed and, though the two men seemed quite pleased with themselves, there was no sign of any benefits they had accrued from their sojourn.

By this time, Ger was well aware that no one in town would be the least bit interested in what they had done and, as such, simply greeted the villagers the way he always did. He was unprepared for the cold reception he got in return. While the storekeepers did serve him, they seemed to begrudge every moment they had to spend helping him.

"What did I do wrong?" Ger complained, sitting on a stool in the bookseller's shop and resting his chin on his clasped hands. He was oblivious to the girls walking by the shop window who stopped in their tracks to get a better look at his physique. Their discussion of whether he had gotten even more attractive over the summer or if they had simply forgotten how good looking he was went unnoticed as well.

The bookseller smiled affectionately at Ger. "You've done nothing wrong per se," he answered with a shake of his head. "You just don't fit their mold, that's all. Someone who looks like you should be the town hero, bask in the glow of his admirers and spend his nights at the bar, drinking with the boys. Instead, you isolate yourself, pay no attention to any of the town women or men for that matter and refuse to act in a way they can understand."

Ger stared at him. "Are you suggesting that I learn how to shoot one of those infernal things just to get a pair of antlers to hang on plaque in the tavern with my name underneath?"

"I'm not. But if you wish to fit in…" The man trailed off with a sad smile.

"I'm beginning to rethink this drive to fit in," Ger said ruefully. "Oh well, I can deal with being an outcast for a year or two."

"Only a year or two?" the bookseller asked with a smile.

"Yes," Ger answered, happy to finally have someone with whom he could share his news. "The faire was a wonderful success and Papa is putting the money towards providing me with enough money to go back to University! If the next two years are as successful as this one, I might be ready to go back by the time I'm twenty one."

"That's wonderful, Ger." He was truly happy for the boy; it was not often that one got to see hope rekindled after it had been destroyed.

"Yes. It is really good of my father to do this, especially after what happened to him."

The bookseller saw a golden opportunity here. "I don't mean to pry, Ger, but what-"

"Happened to get him thrown out of the University?" Ger finished with a wry grin. "Don't worry, I understand your curiosity and I don't think I have to worry about you thinking any worse of us by hearing the story." He paused reflectively. "To be fair, though, I don't think the rest of the town _could_ think any worse of us either."

The bookseller chuckled. "It's a good thing, this sense of humor you possess."

"I suppose," Ger shrugged. "Now, the story that you've been dying to know is fairly simple. My father was experimenting with some chemical reactions that he thought would be useful to power one of his machines. He claimed it was perfectly within his purview, but others insisted that he was being careless by working with substances outside of his field. In any case, something went wrong and he caused an explosion that destroyed one of the laboratories in the University. Thankfully, no one was hurt—Papa had the sense to duck down and was protected by a board that fell in just such a way to form a lean-to and keep anything from falling on his head. There was no one else in the building at the time. _Of course_, Papa had to be thrown out of the University for causing such chaos and behaving so irresponsibly." Ger's voice took on an unmistakable note of derision. "Most of our money and belongings went towards the University to help pay for the damages caused. We had just enough left to move out here and start a new life, if you can call this a life."

The bookseller clucked his tongue. "Come now, Ger. It isn't so bad here. There must be something you enjoy here?"

"You and your bookstore?" Ger answered with a grin.

"And me, of course," trilled a voice from the door.

Ger groaned and buried his face in his hands. Out of all the enjoyable aspects of the summer, the absence of Genevieve Avenant was, at the very least, one of the top five.

"Ger, it's so wonderful for you to be back," Genevieve said in her sweetest voice. She took his arm and Ger threw a pleading look at the bookseller, who raised his hands helplessly. "Let's go for a walk, darling, and you can tell me how much you missed me."

"Bound to be a short walk, then," Ger muttered under his breath and tried to extricate his arm from Genevieve's grasp, but she had quite the impressive grip. She's as tenacious as a terrier, Ger thought to himself.

"Goodbye, Monsieur Bontecou," Ger said with a wave of his free arm. Monsieur Bontecou waved back, then went back to reshelving his stock with a sigh. Poor Ger, he thought. Leave it to Genevieve to find the only boy in town wholly uninterested in her advances.

"So, tell me how terrible the summer was without me," Genevieve prompted. Ger looked at her blankly. She stared back at him, waiting. Every other man in the village understood that opening perfectly, what was wrong with Ger? Genevieve had never seen a need for subtlety; they wanted to praise her and she wanted to be praised, why not make it easier on everyone?

"Awful," he said finally. "I was so disappointed to be able to turn a corner and not happen to bump into a woman who insisted on distracting me from whatever I needed to do.

Genevieve gave an almost imperceptible sigh of relief. _This_ was much better. Perhaps some time away had really been what Ger needed to see what a good thing he had. "Well, don't worry about that anymore," she said reassuringly. "From now on, there will not be a street you turn into that you won't bump into me."

Ger groaned.

Genevieve was as good as her word. The town's amusement that winter was watching the strange boy from Paris evade Mlle. Avenant and taking bets on how long it would be until he came to his senses. There was much arguing in all directions, with the younger men especially insisting that Genevieve should leave him to rot in that stupid cottage of his and start paying attention to _them_ again, for heaven's sake.

Laliene was the only one who really dared broach the topic of Ger to Genevieve. It was completely accidental, but most things Laliene did were. It was a cold November day and Genevieve was sitting by the window of the tavern, waiting for Ger to walk past and complaining about how cold it was going to be when she left the tavern and how disgraceful it was that she had to go out and drag him in to talk to her.

"I know," Laliene agreed. "I don't understand why you bother; you deserve much better than him, anyway."

Genevieve's head snapped up. "What do you mean by that?" she asked, her voice low and almost silky. Everyone knew that as the sign to cower and back away—the barmaids washing glasses actually ducked behind the counter in case anything was to be thrown—but Laliene didn't bother. Projectile glasses were an occupational hazard of being friends with Genevieve.

"Well," she stuttered, suddenly unsure of herself, "You're the best, right?"

Genevieve glared at her. "Do you even have to ask?"

"And if he doesn't see that, then that must mean he's _not_ the best, right?"

Genevieve stared down at her friend, who was about ten seconds away from pulling the nearest tablecloth over her head and hiding for a fortnight. It was such absurd logic that it took an idiot like Laliene to see it, but the little twit might actually have a point. And if Laliene was confused by such things, the rest of the town was probably equally lost. Perhaps she _should_ stop chasing Ger.

And yet, something inside of her was reluctant to follow that course. Ever since she was a young girl, Genevieve had made it her business to get what she wanted. Some might have called her stubborn, she preferred to use the term persistent. But, sooner or later, every battle ended with her as the victor. And while it might have been wise to retreat, Genevieve simply could not admit to being bested by a young man whose only value appeared to be in his good looks.

There was another aspect to Genevieve's fascination, though. She sent Laliene away and strode over to the backroom of the tavern. "I don't understand it, Papa."

"Don't understand what?" Monsieur Avenant asked. He was sitting in his chair, watching the kitchen maids finish cleaning from the night before, though he was supposed to be doing the necessary sums.

"What's wrong with Gervaise Dupont," she finished. "There must be something wrong with him that he still hasn't given in to me."

"Yes," Monsieur Avenant agreed without really paying attention, "What do you think it is?" He was a portly, smiling man who had two loves in his life; his daughter and his tavern.

"I don't know!" she shouted in response. "He must be mad."

"Mad?" Monsieur Avenant repeated, looking up in alarm. "You don't seriously think he's mad, do you?"

Genevieve had to pause for a few moments to actually consider that. "No," she answered finally. "I don't."

"Well, that's a relief," he said. "I was worried there that you might be trying to marry a mad-man and I wouldn't trust my tavern to such a man."

"Papa, this isn't just about the tavern, it's about Genevieve! Your daughter! Me!"

"I have utmost faith that, sooner or later, you will win the boy's hand. And then you will have a beau worthy of your beauty and I will have an heir worthy of taking over the tavern—someone with the knowledge and learning to run it the way I have."

"That's all well and good, but getting him to pay attention to me hasn't exactly been easy."

The same thought occurred to both of them at the same time. "You don't seriously suppose…" she began.

"He doesn't like women," he finished.

"That shouldn't be too hard to figure out," Genevieve murmured. "I'm sure the boys would appreciate me spending a little bit of time with them. And I'll see what I can discover."

_**T.B.C.**_

A/N – The fun about writing all this stuff is that you get to re-imagine the story and deal with what Disney did in a whole new way. The downside is that anything Disney didn't deal with is left for me. The current…problem is that we don't actually know how long Belle spent in Molyneaux. Now, I'm not sure how long to make Ger's stay because, sooner or later, Genevieve is going to get bored. Frankly, Gaston should've gotten bored if Belle kept up her denial long enough. But there's one huge difference. Gaston was male (as is rather obvious). Genevieve is female, which means she is, by necessity, on a different schedule than Gaston. She has to be married soon and can't waste all her time on Ger, regardless of how gorgeous he might be. So he has to have some other sort of virtue. And, in a town where not very many people have had any education, having a son-in-law who is so intelligent could be quite useful. Combine that with Genevieve's pure stubbornness and refusal to be bested by anyone at all, one might have enough of an excuse to keep her from going after anyone else. Ger can't just be better looking than everyone else, he has to have something more to keep Genevieve after him.

I think that's everything this chapter. The rest, well, the thing about a movie is that you only expect all the information you need in 90 minutes. In a book, you expect a bit more information and back-story. So I'm doing my best. But I make no promises. However, there should be something along the lines of plot advancement soon.

And I can't wait to see Ger's face when he finds out that Genevieve has been asking if he's gay.

Thanks, as always, to all my reviewers, both new and old. I would apologize for this chapter taking so long, but it comes down to the fault of vacation. When I have work to do, I can always find something else to be doing instead. But when I have nothing to procrastinate, I sit around and do nothing…well, assuming catching up on a backlog of Doctor Who and Torchwood is nothing.

See you all soon!

Damian


	4. Bonjour and Au Revoir

**Chapter 4 – Bonjour and Au Revoir**

The boys were thrilled to have Genevieve back among them, sitting like a Queen and watching them vie for her attention. She quite enjoyed her first few days back as ruler over her dominion, cool and aloof and not letting any of them get too close.

After a week, however, it was time to put her plan into actions. She had soothed her ego long enough among these plebeians; now she needed to use them to reel in Gervaise. All she needed was the opening. And the fishmonger's son was kind enough to give her that fairly quickly.

"You know," he said boldly as he gazed up at his idol, "We never quite understood why you spent so much time with Gervaise Dupont."

She raised her eyebrows at him and he quailed immediately. "N-not that you're not within every right to pay attention to whoever you want. It's just…"

"Why waste my time on such a boy," she finished for him and he nodded gratefully, hoping he was off the hook.

"That's not the real question," Laliene said with a shake of her head, having been coached carefully in her lines by Genevieve. "The real question is why she turned hi—I mean he turned her down."

They all paused to ponder that, and not just because it seemed like Laliene had made her first intelligent comment of the month.

"She makes a good point," the baker's eldest son conceded. "What could he possibly have found wrong with Genevieve? She's the perfect woman."

Genevieve held her breath. If all five boys had half a brain between them, they should be able to make the logical leap she wanted.

There was a palpable silence in the room and Genevieve fought valiantly not to drum her fingers on the arm of her chair.

"Maybe that's it!" said the baker's younger son with a snap his fingers. "He's a sodomite!"

The other boys quickly shushed him and reminded him that, at sixteen, he was far too young to admit to knowing that word, much less what it meant and certainly should not use it in front of Genevieve.

"What's a sodomite?" Laliene asked guilelessly. All five boys turned deep red and Genevieve rolled her eyes. Just when she thought she had Laliene under control…

"It's a term for a man who…prefers the company of other men."

Laliene puzzled over this one. "So all the men in town are sodomites?" The boys all protested in one giant roar of wounded pride.

"No," Genevieve snapped, slapping Laliene across the back of the head. "It's a _very_ impolite term, Laliene, so don't say it ever again."

"But what does it mean?" she whined.

Genevieve clenched and unclenched her fist. "I'll tell you later, alright?"

"Fine." Laliene was feeling sulky. For once, she had done just what Genevieve asked and she was still in trouble. She shook her head and resolved to get it perfectly right next time.

Genevieve smiled at her offended boys and soothed their ruffled feathers. "Ignore Laliene, she has no more sense than a hen."

"Hey!" Laliene protested, but Genevieve kicked her in the shins. "Oww!"

"You may have a point there, though," mused the baker's eldest son, who was determined not to resent his little brother for having started the conversation.

"And it would make sense. After all, he shows no interest in proper, manly behavior."

"But he does _look_ like the perfect man," said the weaver's son. All four other boys turned towards him in surprise, then took a step back.

"Oh for God's sake," he exclaimed, "I was quoting my sister."

"We know he _looks_ gorgeous," Genevieve said with an airy wave of her hand. "After all, he's attractive enough to stand up with me and match my beauty."

They all protested—no one could stand up with Genevieve and match her beauty…especially because they all knew full well that they couldn't and would be in trouble if that was a requirement for winning the fair lady.

Genevieve enjoyed the protests as her rightful due, almost grateful not to be dealing with Ger for a chance. "Now," she continued, "I have a special mission for you all." They perked up. "I want you to find out if our suspicions about young Gervaise Dupont are correct. As a personal favor for me."

How could they refuse? The weaver's son in particular seemed rather thrilled.

Of course, something happened that Genevieve hadn't exactly counted on. The bookseller had overheard their conversation and decided that it was time to put some plans of his own into action.

"Ger," he said the very next day as the boy browsed through bookshelves, running his hands over old, familiar titles.

"Hmm?" the boy responded, clearly distracted.

"You're going to have to do something about your reputation."

Ger rolled his eyes. "I know we've had this conversation before," he muttered.

"I know, but your theory that Genevieve will eventually just give up and find someone else to bother doesn't seem to be panning out."

"She's left me alone, hasn't she?" Ger pointed out.

"Yes, and has started suggesting to the other boys around the town that your reasons have to do with the fact that you're…not inclined towards women, shall we say?"

Ger stopped perusing his book and very carefully put it back on the shelf. "She was saying what about me?"

"She wasn't saying that," Monsiuer Bontecou hedged. "She—"

"Helped others draw that conclusion?" Ger suggested with an angry look on his face. The other man shrugged, what else could he do?

"One of these days," Ger growled as he made his selection for the day and brought it to the counter, "I'm going to get that girl."

Ger left the bookseller in a bit of a huff, his nose buried in the latest from Paris, a philosophical treatise by some Scotsman who was gaining in popularity as his ideas about Empiricism spread. He was interrupted in his perusal by the last person in the world he wanted to see.

"Hello, Ger," came a sugary sweet voice.

"Bonjour, Genevieve," Ger said, not bothering to look up in the hope that he could just keep going and not be forced to interact with her. He succeeded in keeping his face neutral, even when she plucked the book out of his hands and flipped through it herself.

"How can you read this?" she asked disparagingly. "These sentences are so long, you forget what the first half was by the time you reach the second."

"Well some people actually use their brains every so often," Ger muttered under his breath.

Genevieve smiled sweetly and dropped the book in the mud in order to take up a more favorable pose. It has occurred to her that Ger would react far more favorably to her if she warned him about the pernicious rumors currently being spread about his masculinity. Her mind has painted this lovely image of Ger reacting by becoming terribly angry and going off to thoroughly trounce anyone who would say such things. Beforehand, however, he would mutter "I'll show them" under his breath, reach out to take her hand and ask her to give him a victor's kiss when he finished.

"Ger, it's about time you got your head out of the books and paid attention to more important things. Like me." Her mind was elsewhere, imagining Ger without a shirt, looking all sweaty and masculine after defeating someone. The baker's eldest would be preferable; that boy was starting to get cocky.

Ger mastered the desire to respond, choosing instead to pick up the book and clean it off as best he could with the hem of his cloak.

"The whole town is talking about it," Genevieve continued. "It's not right for a man to neglect his duties the way you do. It's your god-given right and responsibility to hunt and drink and notice pretty girls. Exceptionally pretty girls."

"Oh," Ger answered politely. "Are there any around?"

"Of course there are, what do I look like?" There were some times, Ger decided, when discretion really was the better part of valor. "In any case, people are starting to talk, to say things about you."  
"Oh?" Ger answered again, hoping that if the conversation was boring enough, she would go away.

"I heard some of the boys talking," Genevieve said confidentially, "Saying the most terrible things about you—"

"That's really interesting, Genevieve, but my father is working on a new invention and I had promised I would get home to help him. Have a nice day." He would have been far more interested in her news if he was not already fully cognizant of it.

Laliene, who had been lurking behind Genevieve this whole time and under strict orders not to say a word, piped up. "They say things about him too, you know."

Ger kept walking, determined to ignore them both.

"They say he's a fool and a lunatic and that he should be shut away."

Ger whirled on them both, his eyes burning with anger. "Don't talk about my father that way!" he growled in a low, but commanding voice.

"Laliene!" Genevieve said sharply. "Behave yourself! You know better than to listen to those terrible falsehoods about Monsieur Dupont."

"But you sa-" Laliene began before Genevieve stamped down on the other girl's toes.

"My father is not crazy, he's a genius." Ger's assertion was slightly marred by the column of smoke and deafening noise that erupted from the cellar of the Dupont's little cottage. He took off at a dead run, remembering all too well that his father and explosions were not two things that should ever be mixed again.

Genevieve and Laliene giggled at Ger's retreating back, before bursting into a fit of laughter. But even in the midst of her amusement, Genevieve was already beginning to plot.

"Are you alright, Papa?" Ger asked as he leaped fearlessly down into the still-smoking cellar.

"_I'm _fine," Maurice answered. "But the chopper! I was this close to finishing it!" He indicated an infinitesimal amount with his thumb and forefinger.

"You have all winter," Ger said consolingly, brushing dust and debris off his father's shoulders. "Why worry and rush now?"

"I don't have all winter!" Maurice responded, kicking the machine for good measure. "There's an inventor's fair being held next week in Clermont-Ferrand and I need to leave in two days, at the very latest, in order to get there in time."

"We're going to another fair?" Ger asked excitedly.

"No," Maurice corrected. "I'm going to another fair. I need you to stay home and mind the farm." Ger's face fell, but he knew his father was right. This wasn't like the summer, when they could sell their animals and leave. Maurice was only going to be gone for a week—it made no sense for both of them to pack up and head off. Still, though, Ger was disappointed not to go and find out who the other rural geniuses were.

"Well, then," Ger said brightly. "At least I can help you get the chopper in working order."

"That, Ger, would take a miracle." Maurice paused. "Or perhaps a dog legged clincher—hand me the medium sized one, please."

Ger smiled and took the tool from its place, handing it to his father, who was only visible from the waist down as he fiddled around with the chopper's design.

"How was town today?" Maurice asked, his customary question to his son.

"Same place it was yesterday," Ger answered with a shrug, though he realized that was not necessarily true. "Papa, do you think I'm…" he fumbled around for a word. "Odd?"

"My son? Odd?" Maurice said incredulously, actually looking up from his machine and at his son through a pair of ludicrous goggles. "Where would you get an idea like that?"

Ger chuckled and forbore pointing out the obvious. "It's just…there's no one I can really talk to."  
"What about your bookseller friend, what was his name?"

"Monsieur Bontecou?" Ger filled in for his absentminded father. "Oh, he's nice and all, but…well, he's old."

"Ah," Maurice said sagely, gesturing with the dog legged clincher, "You miss the company of the fairer sex."

"Some of the species," Ger muttered under his breath.

"What about that Genevieve, she's quite the belle."

"She's…very attractive," Ger had to concede. "But, oh God, she know it! And she's vain, it would be like courting a peacock! And I'm still not sure if there's any brain under that mass of sable locks and—"

Maurice chuckled. "I see your quandary, dear Ger. I wouldn't worry, though. With the money we get from this fair, we may even be able to leave Molyneaux a year early."

And with that impetus, Ger joined his father on the floor to take a look at the underside of the machine as well. Though he lacked his father's head for mechanics, he was excellent at tightening a bolt as far as it would go or pulling out the truly recalcitrant nails.

They worked all through the next day and, as dusk settled over the sleepy little village, Ger and Maurice shared a grin. "Well," said Maurice, "I can't think of anything else we need to fix. Shall we give it a whirl?"

They set the chopper up in the backyard and Ger set the woodpile in place with a flourish.

"Ready?" Maurice called.

"Ready!" Ger responded and, ever practical, braced himself for an explosion.

The sound that echoed in the clearing, however, was the thud of an ax into wood and, after a few chops, the sound of wood landing perfectly atop a stack.

Ger opened his eyes in disbelief. "You did it, Papa!" he shouted excitedly, feeling like a little boy, when his father would take him to University and show him how all the moving parts inside the clanks worked in perfect harmony.

Maurice opened his eyes in shock as well. "It works?" he yelped. "It finally works!" He nearly ran up to the machine to embrace it and Ger had to pull him back at the last second to keep him from getting hit in the head by a chunk of wood.

The next day saw two sets of preparations being carried out. The Duponts awoke early to provision Maurice for his journey. Ger was particularly nervous about this, since his father was notoriously absent minded and, to Ger's paranoid mind, looked just like the perfect prey for thieves and ruffians along the road. On the other hand, their mare Phillipa was a sensible creature and would not let undue harm come to her master. Yet Ger could not help but wish he were going along.

While the two men packed up Phillipa, preparations of another kind were going on in the tavern.

After her ignominious defeat the day before, Genevieve had started hatching a plot. Using Raisse, Doreen and Aveline as messenger girls, Genevieve was setting the stage for a marvelous moment. She had seen that Ger would rather escape from any circumstance rather than give her a straightforward answer, which suggested that, for one reason or another, he was afraid to face her head on. To Genevieve's mind, that could only mean one thing—that he would capitulate if he was forced to answer. As soon as she had come to that conclusion, her mind supplied numerous answers as to why he would rather run and hide. He was, after all, young and impetuous. He was probably worried about being tied down or losing face if all the boys thought he was under her thumb. Genevieve examined the digit in question. He was a silly boy; the rest of them were also under her thumb and she didn't even have any intentions towards them.

However, this plan would work perfectly; putting Ger in a position where he would have no choice but to ask for her hand. All she needed to do was get him to the tavern.

"Goodbye, Ger!" called Maurice from the back of the horse. "Try to stay out of trouble!"

"You too, Papa!" Ger responded with a chuckle, waving to his father as he set off into the woods and towards Clermont Ferrand.

_**T.B.C.**_

A/N – And we finally get to some B&tB bits. Yes, I've kept some of the dialogue verbatim. I sat around agonizing over that for a while, but finally decided that there was no need to gratuitously change Disney's script when the characters were saying what I wanted them to already. As it is, I hope the changes come through and not just the similarities.

Hmm, anything to note in the Glossary…

Phillipa is obvious, but the horse's name Philippe means lover of horses. Which, I suppose, another horse is and so I kept that and feminized it just because.

Clermont Ferrand is a name that I know from TrudiRose's "Picture This" saga, but I actually did the research (don't die of shock) on why that name was chosen and where that town actually is. And, going by where everyone seems to place Molyneaux, that sounds like a perfectly legitimate "larger town" to have nearby for conveniences of fairs and such. It is, of course, farther away from Molyneaux in my version, but that was necessary for Maurice to get lost.

I don't think I have to cover my tush, so to speak, about the homosexuality references. While what I wrote would not be polite/p.c./something I would ever want to espouse where I live nowadays, attitudes in those days were…well, actually, kinda similar to the way they are now. You just didn't talk about it. Call some of these guys the anti-gay contingency. And, speaking from the 18th century peasant's perspective, they weren't entirely polite about it. This is sorta what happens when I sit down and think how to discredit someone. Belle is discredited for being unwomanly, so it stands to reason that Ger should get in trouble for being unmanly. Mind you, Genevieve doesn't really believe that Ger is gay, but it is extremely convenient for her and puts him in a very awkward position, which is what she really wants.

The Scotsman discussing Empiricism is David Hume. If anyone wants a crash course in philosophy, I highly recommend _Sophie's World_ by Jostein Gaarder. No, it isn't remotely necessary for this story, but I do occasionally drop hints to my "useless" liberal arts education when they fit in. (Hums Avenue Q).

Oh, clanks. Clanks are a term used for mechanical, err, things that tend to be run by steam or clockwork and feature prominently in the world of gaslamp fantasy and steampunk. For more information, google "Girl Genius" and check out the comic.

One of these days, I will write the Steampunk B&tB where the Beast manages to turn himself into a Beast and it takes all of Belle's mad scientist skills to save him. Alternatively, there will be a Calvin and Hobbes/B&tB crossover where Calvin's transmogrifier goes berserk and Hobbes has to convince Susie to kiss Calvin to get him to turn back. On second thought, I'm going to finish this first.

If I missed anything, let me know and, as always, I love reviewers and I could not live without you. I bow before you and you get even more praise after I get your reviews.

Levana (Damian)


	5. An Immodest Proposal

**Chapter 5 – An Immodest Proposal**

Maurice Dupont set off for Clermont Ferrard with a broad grin and a song in his heart. Things were certainly looking up now, with all these new opportunities. Though he had enjoyed the University tremendously, Maurice was rather glad of this…sabbatical to give himself time to work on some of his pet projects. He was also perfectly happy living in the country—after all, he had grown up on a farm and looked back fondly on his boyhood, conveniently forgetting how desperate he had been to run away to University when he had been seventeen. His only real regret was Ger. His son clearly has the abilities and desire to make a great name for himself in Paris; it seemed such a shame to keep him shut up in Molyneaux.

Perhaps, once Ger was safely ensconced in University, I could retire here, Maurice mused. It would be a nice place to live and, sooner or later, the townspeople would stop seeing him as some mad curiosity and simply accept him as a town feature. And if this invention turned out to be as much of a success as he predicted, then every man in the town would be clamoring for one. He could even give them a discount.

He was so caught up in his musings over the chopper—how much it would cost to produce, whether he could make it cheaply and of good quality, how much he should charge for each machine—he completely missed the track that led to the main road of the county. Maurice continued cheerfully on over the bridge and it was only when the leaves of the forest began to darken his vision that he looked up and started wondering where he was.

"We should be at the highway by now," Maurice murmured, not overly concerned yet. He looked around, wracking his brains to try and remember if there were any woods on the way to Clermont Ferrand. He could not remember seeing any, but he also could not remember _not_ seeing any, so it was perfectly possibly that all was as it should be. And if he continued on and this was the right way, he would undoubtedly be in Clermont Ferrand by nightfall as opposed to turning back around and not returning to Molyneaux until long past sunset. And Ger would be so disappointed if he returned because he could not find his way to the fair.

That decided it for him and he urged Philippa onward through the trees.

His resolve lasted up until he encountered a crossroads. Maurice squinted at the blurred and weathered signpost in an attempt to figure out which way to go, but the places he thought he read were towns he had never even heard of, much less knew the location of. He closed his eyes for a moment, muttering a faint prayer that he choose properly, and pointed in a random direction. One path was much the same as another, as far as he was concerned.

Philippa disagreed; the right hand path was far warmer and more inviting looking. And it smelled of travelers and horses. The other path, towards which her master was now trying to direct her, was far less appealing. Philippa shied away from it.

"What's the matter with you, Philippa?" Maurice exclaimed. "Come along, I know what I'm doing!" Neither he nor the horse believed his words, but she reluctantly allowed herself to be ridden deeper into the woods.

Dusk was falling and there was still no sign of the road. Maurice was beginning to regret his earlier decisions and wished he had gone back to Molyneaux while he had a chance. Or taken a more up-to-date map. Or even taken Ger along, he would have been far too sensible to get lost. Maurice shivered slightly; no one was going to even know he was missing for a week at least. And by then it would be far too late for him, lost in these eerie woods.

A lone wolf's howl pierced the silent night. Maurice nearly jumped out of his skin and Philippa whuffled nervously. "Don't worry, girl," he said, patting her neck gently. "It's probably just a mating call." He'd never heard a wolf's mating call, so this sounded about as plausible as any other explanation and the most reassuring, by far, that he could think of.

When he heard two answering howls, however, he knew it was time to run. At the barest suggestion of his heels, Philippa sprang forward into a gallop. They careened through the forest, no thought in either man or beast's head other than escape. The wolves knew the territory better and were unhampered by ay sort of baggage. And so they gained ground.

Maurice clung desperately to the reins as he searched for some sign of which way to go. In the distance, he thought he could make out a light, glowing faintly pinkish. He turned Philippa towards it with more force than skill and horse and rider crashed through the foliage in search of uncertain safety.

As they drew nearer, Maurice could see that his refuge was not a mirage, but a large and forbidding castle. The glow of light was still there, shimmering from a balcony on the West side of the castle and it gave Maurice hope. While he was not the sort of guest a noble would like to have, no one could be cruel enough to throw a desperate man back out to the wolves.

Without warning, one of the wolves broke through the bushes on the ground and launched itself at Maurice. He screamed as Philippa reared up and smacked it away with her hoof. Maurice fought to cling to his seat, but he lost his grip when she first reared up and, as the horse cam crashing back down, he tumbled off her back. Philippa didn't even seem to notice that her rider was gone as she took off towards the road with the chopper crashing along behind her.

The wolf Philippa has knocked away was down, but Maurice could hear the snarling of the others as they approached him. He was easy prey now; his only chance was to make it to the castle before the wolves devoured him.

He started running towards the wrought iron gates, crashing into them with only a few meters between himself and the wolves. And they were locked. Maurice flung himself against the gate, shaking it with all his strength.

The rusted iron finally gave way and Maurice tumbled through the gate. He kicked it shut with his foot, nearly having it bitten off in the process. He got back to his feet, still running on pure instinct, and took off towards the door to the castle, not even noticing the wind that blew his hat off his head. It was only when he stood before the giant doors, listening to the despairing howls of the wolves who had lost their dinner, that he actually stopped to catch his breath.

He looked up at the imposing structure before him. Hewn from dark granite, the castle loomed above him like a giant, forbidding mountain. The carved oak of the door had darkened with age to a shade of ebony. He knocked tentatively and, when that produced no response, knocked again. There was no point in waiting outside until the wolves found a way through the gate, so he pushed on the door and, with a slow and ominous creaking, it swung open.

Ger was, at that moment, completely unaware of the peril his father was in. Monsieur Bontecou had passed on the town gossip that there was going to be some sort of dance at the tavern. When Ger asked why, he has answered that he was not sure, but that Genevieve was behind it. As far as Ger was concerned, that boded extremely ill for him and he thought his best plan would be to stay home.

He was seated rather comfortably in the kitchen, one leg stretched out in front to rest on the other chair while the other was bent at the knee and serving Ger as a bookstand. Ger had given up on Hume for the day and was indulging in his literary guilty pleasure, Arthurian Romance.

Ger started up out of his book at the sound of someone tapping at the door. He raised an eyebrow, trying to figure out if it was just the product of an overactive imagination and, if it wasn't, what the likelihood was that he actually wanted to speak to the visitor..

The gentle tapping increased to a steady rapping and, by the time it had reached a heavy pounding, Ger decided to make his way down to the cellar to at least have a plausible excuse for having not let whomever it was in.

His plans were disrupted when the front door swung open and Genevieve flounced in. Ger sat up quickly and hid the book behind his back.

"Hello, Genevieve," he said as politely as possible. "I was just on my way up from the cellar. What brings you here?" She was looking even more attractive than usual, Ger noted. If he were the type to fall for luxurious hair and a perfect pair of breasts, he would have been sunk. Fortunately, the thought of spending the rest of his life listening to Genevieve discuss her favorite topic was enough to quench any feelings he might have entertained.

"What were you doing down there?" Genevieve asked, wrinkling her nose at the thought.

"Summoning demons from the bowels of hell," he answered with as straight a face at possible.

Genevieve stared at him in shocked fear for a good fifteen seconds before laughing and shaking her head. "Don't be absurd, Ger, everyone knows hell doesn't have bowels."

There was nothing for Ger to say in response to that, so he just shrugged and waited for her to continue.

"I have a proposition for you," she said, smiling brightly at him.

Ger drummed his fingers against the table and stared at her. "As you know," she continued, utterly oblivious of her audience's apathy, "My father is the richest man in town. He owns the tavern and runs it wonderfully, which means that he can provide for everything that I need and I can shine out and make Molyneaux something special with my beauty. But my father is getting old and I'm nearing the age of marriage."

Nearing is not the word I would have used, Ger thought privately to himself, well aware that Genevieve was eighteen, just like himself.

"So I need a man to marry who will take care of me like he should and take over Papa's business so that he can retire and live off my husband's profits."

"I'm sure there must be many men willing to grovel at your feet," Ger said calmly, trying to decide if taking out a book would be _too_ rude.

"Of course there are," Genevieve answered with a dismissive wave of her hand. "They just aren't good enough for me."

"I wasn't aware that the man exists who would live up to your standards.."

"He doesn't."

Ger blinked at Genevieve, who seemed unaware that she had just said anything out of the ordinary.

"But I'll take what I can get."

"Then I wish you all the luck you deserve, I'm sure the man who is _almost_ good enough would love to marry you." Ger said, doing his best to be polite.

"Thank you, Ger. I accept!"

"I beg your pardon?"

"I accept silly…not that you should be surprised; I just about told you I would."

"You accept what?"

"Your proposal," Genevieve answered, laughing at him. "I accept. We'll go over to the tavern right now and announce the news. Though everyone knows already, I told them you were going to ask tonight and it's not like you would refuse."

Ger's jaw dropped. "I proposed? When?"

Genevieve blinked in confusion. "I don't remember your exact words, which is a bit unfortunate, I realize, since it will make for a terrible story when I tell the girls. You wouldn't, by any chance, want to give me something sweet and romantic so that you do not sound too beneath me?"

Ger had, at first, been planning to very politely tell her that he was not interested. Then the politeness dropped out of the equation.

"I didn't propose to you!" Ger insisted.

"Well then, get on with it!" Genevieve nearly snapped, "I don't like to be kept waiting."

Ger was fighting not to grind his teeth or strangle the girl. He had had enough of Genevieve and her constant badgering and assumptions that every man should be falling at her feet. It was time someone put her in her place: a mildly attractive woman who fills the need of a few desperate boys in a small town of no consequence. Well, mildly attractive was not giving her enough credit. But still, he was going to teach her a lesson.

"Not yet," Ger finally answered. "Didn't you say everyone was gathered at the tavern?"

"Yes, to celebrate our engagement. Which brings me back to-"

"What if I'd said I wouldn't propose?"

"I don't follow."

That clinched it for Ger. "Wouldn't you prefer for me to propose to you in front of everyone?"

"Oh, Ger, that's such a sweet idea. You know, maybe there is some hope for you after all."

"I'm glad to hear that, shall we be off?" Ger voluntary offered Genevieve his arm for the first time in quite a while and the left the house together.

The first part of the trip was surprisingly enjoyable for both of them. Genevieve was chattering happily about how relieved everyone was going to be that Ger turned out not to be a complete waste of time while Ger was tuning her out as best as possible and planning his next move. Now that he had a bit of time to think about things, he was realizing that maybe this was not the best thing he could have done. Genevieve was a foolish airhead, but if he shot her down in front of the entire town…well, it would be quite the blow to her.

Ger was not unaware of the effect it would have on his own standing in the town and was fully expecting to be challenged to duel by at least half the male population of the town under a certain age. That did not worry him overmuch, they were big boys, but untrained and Ger could take them with his eyes closed. No, he was worried about his father when Maurice returned. To see his father ostracized because his son had a quick tongue and a quicker temper…Ger shook his head. There was a correct way to handle everything and this was not it.

"And now I can put a stop to those rumors that you're not normal," Genevieve was saying brightly.

That snapped Ger out of his reverie. He had forgotten about that.

"You mean the ones about my…" he sought for a way to put it delicately, "taste in romantic partners?"

"Mostly, yes. It would not due to have people say things like _that_ when you're going to marry me."

"Why did you wait until now?" he asked.

"Why should I have stopped them earlier?"

"Genevieve, if anyone had believed those rumors, I could have been sentenced to death!"

Genevieve snorted in an impressively ladylike manner. "Don't be absurd, Ger, I was in complete control the entire time. But it was a useful tool, wouldn't you say?"

This is why she needs to be taught a public lesson, Ger fumed. That little brat needs to learn that we're not all her playthings!

"Besides, darling, with your father the way he is, it's not surprising all those rumors start."

Ger stopped short. "What do you mean by that?"

Genevieve was oblivious that she had just crossed the invisible line. "You know what I mean. Just look at him, Ger. He's about as strange as you get and spends all his time down _inventing_…well, who in their right mind would think he's normal? Frankly, with how good you look, I wouldn't be surprised if-" She trailed off. Even tactless Genevieve knew that accusing Ger's mother of adultery would not go over well. Even if half the town privately agreed.

Ger did not need to know what she was going to say to be offended by it. For better or worse, they had reached the tavern and Ger was more than ready to let Genevieve have it.

"It doesn't matter, anyway," Genevieve continued valiantly. "You're handsome enough for a whole family and quick to boot."

Ger, still arm in arm with Genevieve, made his grand entrance into the tavern. The room erupted in cheering and hurrahs and some angry muttering from the boys in the front. Genevieve shushed the crowd effortlessly, then turned to Ger.

"Ready, darling?"

"Yes." He knew he would beat himself up for doing this later, but he was so caught up in the anger of the moment, later did not even register. "I suppose you all think you know why you're gathered here tonight. First, I'd like to correct one small thing. Genevieve and I are not yet engaged."

"But…," Genevieve whispered, waiting for it.

"Furthermore," Ger continued, "We never will be." Every single person in the room gasped as one. "I have no interest in tying myself to a desperate woman whose beauty is already starting to fade. In ten years, she'll be old and fat and I'll wish I'd spent the money wasted on her on some flower of the demimonde." Ger hated to admit it, but he was enjoying this. "I've seen the beauties of Paris and believe me when I say that you, Genevieve, are nothing more than a weed to their rose. Go and choose your husband from one of the village boys; you are not good enough for me."

He turned to stalk from the room, when the baker's younger son, who simply could not control himself, yelled out "You…you _fairy_!" His elder brother gave a quiet sigh of relief; he had been afraid the boy would have used a much cruder term.

Ger stopped his grand exit. "If you ever have the luck to be in Paris, little one, might I recommend a little place called _La Guilde de Couturières_. If you mention my name, they'll know to send you to Satine. Come back and let me know if Genevieve can hold a candle to her." And Ger continued his magnificent exit, slamming the door of the tavern with a satisfying thud.

The cool night's air did much to calm Ger down as he walked back home. Now that the moment was gone, he was just about kicking himself for how he reacted. Using Satine's name had just been stupid; none of the boys here had ever seen her. Then again, that was probably for the best since Ger himself had never set foot in _La Guilde de Couturières_; that had just been posturing.

That was also the least of his problems. He had just insulted Genevieve about as roundly as possible and she was not the forgiving sort. It might have earned him a brief respite, but the delusion that Genevieve would retreat after a defeat was exactly that, a delusion.

"Stupid, stupid, stupid," Ger muttered to himself and he kicked a stone across the bridge back to the cottage. If he'd thought the townspeople had not liked the Duponts before, that was nothing compared to the reaction they would get after this. And then there was his poor father, who liked to think that, given time, the town would get used to them. Ger just hoped this new invention was the best thing to be invented since fire—that might be the only thing that could raise their standings in the eyes of the townspeople.

His thoughts were interrupted by what sounded suspiciously like that self-same invention coming clattering up the road. Ger sighed—the way this day was going, it should not surprise him that his father got lost and returned home.

Philippa came charging up the hill to the cottage, the whites of her eyes still showing. As soon as Ger caught sight of her, he took off at a run. All his previous thoughts were forgotten and all he could think of was why the mare had returned without her rider.

"What happened, Philippa?" he asked, catching her bridle with ease as she skidded to a stop in front of him. Ger stroked her mane and nuzzled him affectionately. She was clearly scared, which only made Ger more determined to go back the way they had came. Unfortunately, Philippa was clearly exhausted and riding off into the forest at night was much too dangerous, especially since he had no idea when or why his father might have fallen off. The thought of missing him, or worse, in the dark sent a shiver down Ger's spine.

Reluctantly, he led the horse back towards their little home and, after stabling her for the night, spent far too few hours in a fitful, haunted sleep.

Ger was up before first light and riding out into the woods as the sun's first rays peeked over the horizon. By the time the village boys came to teach Ger a lesson, he was long gone.

_**T.B.C.**_

A/N – :blinks a few times: Okay, this story just started writing itself and using my hands to manipulate the keyboard. I love when that happens, but it always worries me slightly, as the supposed creator, because it means I'm no longer in charge.

Let me explain. From the moment I finished chapter 3, I knew that Ger was going to have to humiliate Genevieve at the tavern. I don't know WHY this had to happen, I just knew it was going to and no amount of rewriting would let me leave it out. This happens, occasionally. So it did.

Now, I realize this is not the sort of thing Belle would necessarily do. She turned Gaston down, but did not realize she was throwing him out into the wedding. Mind you, that might not have stopped her, but her behavior was not deliberately malicious. Ger's actions were out of anger, but they were still cruel and I don't necessarily know if Belle would have done things they way he did. That being said, Ger has more agency than Belle does. She dreams of escaping, he makes plans and has his escape route planned out. I think a part of him just wanted to put an end to Genevieve's annoyances and he just had an opportunity.

Also, Genevieve, in my mind, has always been more vulnerable than Gaston. She's in a very precarious position right now and, while Ger might not have been thinking clearly, this makes reappearing from a puddle with a pig on one's head look good.

But this is how the proposal scene decided to happen this time and I really want feedback on this, mostly because I want to know if this is something other people feel other than me or whether you think the author has lost her mind. Not that things'll change—I need them this way now and the next bit of the story has been planned out around these events. But still.

Other notes – Philippa unseats Maurice pretty much at the gates of the castle. This answers the question of how Philippe managed to find the castle with Belle if he was not around when the wolves chased Maurice to the gates.

Satine is, of course, Nicole Kidman's character from _Moulin Rouge_. _La Guilde de Couturières _translates to "The Guild of Seamstresses". If you read Pratchett, you understand why. I apologize for the need to throw in references, it is a habit I will have to break if I ever want to publish something.

Erhem, I think that's everything. Thank you to all my readers and reviewers, you are all the best and I love you madly. And I'll love you even more for every review.


	6. The Haunting, Haunted Kind

**Chapter 6 – The Haunting, Haunted Kind**

Maurice peered cautiously into the darkness of the house. He was reticent about shutting the door, but if it meant keeping the wolves at bay, he could live without the moon to light his way. And there was a candelabrum just a few feet from him.

"Hello," he called softly, as he made his way over to the yellow glow. The presence of a lamp was reassuring, since it meant someone must have been by recently to light it. "Is anyone here?"

The candelabrum opened its mouth to respond, but the clock sitting next to it glared at the candelabrum.

"Poor fellow must have lost his way in the woods," explained the candelabrum in a hushed tone.

"And if we keep quiet," answered the clock, "Maybe he'll go back out and find it again."

Maurice's ears perked up at the muffled sound of voices. "Is someone there?" he called out again. "I don't mean to intrude, but I seem to have lost my way—" the candelabrum gave the clock a nudge, as if to say 'I told you so' "—and I don't want to try my luck with the wolves again tonight."

Even the clock was feeling sympathetic towards the man's plight at this point, a fact that the candelabrum took full advantage of. The clock was just a second too late to stop the candelabrum from announcing "Of course, Monsieur, you are welcome here!"

Maurice jumped in surprise at the suddenness of the voice. "Who said that?"

"Over here," said the voice from a region near the light. Maurice grabbed the candelabrum and swung it around, trying to illuminate the gloom and identify the man speaking to him.

A light rapping on his head made him swing around in surprise until he was staring at the candelabrum. Who was staring back. "Hello," it said cheerfully.

Maurice screamed and dropped the talking candelabrum as if it had burned him. The candelabrum just shook its…top candle and relit itself as if nothing had happened. "Incredible," the inventor breathed, going from fear to awe to curiosity in the space of a moment.

"Well, now you've done it, Lumiere," said the clock, hopping down from the end table and walking, actually _walking_ over to the candelabrum.

Lumiere, Maurice mused, I wonder if that's the thing's name. Without even thinking, Maurice scooped up the clock in order to get a better look at it. "How is this accomplished?" he wondered aloud, opening the clock's front to play with the pendulum and completely ignoring the clock's protests. He noticed, however, when the clock slammed its stomach closed on his finger. Maurice withdrew the inquisitive digit and it dawned on him that treating these extraordinary objects as just inventions was not the way to go.

"I beg your pardon," he said as politely as he could in order to assuage the feelings of the clock who was, understandably, rather ticked off. "It's just that I've never seen a clock that—" the rest of what he was going to say was drowned out in an enormous sneeze.

The clock blinked a few times at the indignity of being sneezed on. The candelabrum, after taking a few moments to stifle his laughter, turned his immediate attention to their guest's comfort and guided him to one of the parlors, where a large fire was crackling merrily. The clock scrambled along behind them, shouting protests that the candelabrum cheerfully ignored, leaving Maurice feeling all right about doing the same.

Maurice sat down gratefully in the chair; the travel of the past few hours and the terrors of the last fifteen minutes were finally catching up to him and he wanted nothing more than to relax in the chair, clutch the blanket he had been thoughtfully handed by a coat rack and put his feet up on the footstool that had obligingly scampered into place and was now wagging its…tassels eagerly. The only thing he was missing was a hot drink…

"How would you like a nice spot of tea?" asked a voice by his elbow. "It will warm you up in no time." Maurice looked down to see a cheerfully smiling teapot standing expectantly on a cart.

"Yes, please," he answered.

"Tea too?" asked the clock hopelessly. "Why don't you just throw open the banquet hall and have a party?"

The candelabrum turned to the clock with a look of wonder on its face. "Cogsworth, mon ami, what a brilliant idea!" The clock was left to stare openmouthed at his companion.

"Thank you," said Maurice as he picked up the teacup now brimming full of tea. He inhaled the lovely aroma, then raised it to his lips to take a sip.

The teacup giggled and Maurice nearly dropped it. "His moustache tickles, Mama," it explained between laughs. Maurice couldn't help but laugh as well.

"Oh, hello," Maurice said, unmindful of the fact that he had gone from being intrigued by these objects to making friends with them in the space of three minutes or so.

"A brilliant idea," repeated the candelabrum. "I shall go speak to the chef immediately!"

"Oh goodie," said a new voice, low and with a hint of a growl in it. Every single object in the room froze.

"Uh oh," whispered the teacup, trembling in Maurice's hands.

"Will there be cake?" continued the new voice in silky tones that made Maurice want to run, but froze him to the seat. "I do like cake. It's been so long since anyone has made _me_ cake."

The voice was right behind Maurice's chair now. "Then again," it continued, "It is rather hard to eat cake with these." Maurice nearly screamed as he was flung from the chair and sprawled on the floor. When he looked up, the first thing he saw was the firelight glinting off three inches of claws. He moaned softly and tried to cower back down.

"Afraid to look at me?" asked the silky voice. "It's considered polite to meet your hostess's eyes, you know."

Maurice didn't want to look up, but he felt the claws hook into the scruff of his cloak and yank him upright. He looked up then, right in the face of unspeakable horror. It was a monster, but not like any he had ever seen before. Its face reminded him of a cat's, but bigger, impossibly bigger, than any cat he had ever seen. The arms that held him seemed to work like human arms, but they were covered in dark brown fur and ended in paws. The monster was holding him a good foot above the floor and he was still slightly below eye-level. He looked down and realized that it was wearing clothes. Breeches and a linen shirt, far finer than anything he had ever owned. He was not paying enough attention to notice the shirt's tailoring or the pink bow in its mane, otherwise he might have avoided making a terrible mistake later on.

Then he looked into the monster's eyes and hiccupped back a sob. For the clear blue eyes that stared back at him were all too human.

"What's wrong?" asked the monster. "Don't you like what you see? Or are you disappointed that I didn't dress up to greet you? Does my wardrobe not meet with your approval?"

"Please let me go," Maurice whispered. "I didn't mean to intrude in your castle, but-"

"Oh, you just accidentally entered the first large, locked place you saw and settled down? "

"I-I-got lost in the woods and the wolves came and I just needed a place to stay."

"A place to stay?" the monster repeated, eyeing Maurice.

"Yes, all I ask is one night, sir. Then I will leave and never darken your doorstep again."

"Sir?" asked the monster in its terrible voice. "Do I _look_ like a 'sir' to you?" The monster flung Maurice to the floor and glared down at him. This time, when Maurice looked up, he saw all the little clues he had missed earlier and winced. The monster, whatever it was, was clearly female.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, "I had no idea-"

"Yes, I had gathered that," she said dryly. "Your loss, though, not mine." And she picked Maurice up by the scruff of his neck and dragged him off to the dungeons.

As she turned the key to trap him in there, she smiled very unreassuringly at her new guest. "Look at the bright side," said the monster, "The wolves can't get you in here. Never let it be said that I would throw out someone in need of shelter." There was something dangerously grim about the set of her mouth that made Maurice wish she would just leave. Even an empty dungeon was better than one with her in it. As if in response to his wish, she turned on her heels and left him all alone.

There was a small pile of straw in the corner and a moldy, old blanket. But it was still a teeny bit of warmth, so Maurice wrapped it around himself and tried not to think about his fate.

The monster made it back down the stairs, where all the objects were still cowered.

"Well," she said lightly, "Go ahead. You all have something to say, don't you?"

They looked from one to another. "Your Grace," Lumiere said finally, "Was that really necessary?"

"No, but I rather enjoyed it," she answered lightly. There was utter silence for a few moments.

"That's not true!" the teacup protested.

"And how do you know that, Chip?" asked the monster, picking up the little cup in her hands.

"You're not that mean," he answered, looking straight up at her. And, in his mind, it was true. She had always had a soft spot for the little teacup. Even before the curse, she had played with the toddler he had been, though no one else would go near her. And afterwards, well, he still seemed to have some sort of hold over her.

"Silly Chip," she murmured to herself, setting him down gently. The teapot breathed a sigh of relief—she was still wary of her mistress's anger and feared that, one day, not even her son would be immune from it. "What do you know about me? What do any of you know about me?" She stared out at her assembled servants. "For the last time, I do not wish to be disturbed. Any other _visitors_ will suffer a fate worse than that of the poor old man up there."

"Worse than dying in a drafty dungeon?" Cogsworth could not help but gasp.

The monster chuckled. "Oh, he won't die up there." She sat down heavily in the chair. "In a day or three, one of you is going to sneak up there and free him and show him the way out. Make sure you make it very clear that I will be very upset to find he had escaped and that, if he ever returns, his life is forfeit."

"Then why not just let him stay the night and go on his way?" asked the teapot hotly.

"Because, Mrs. Potts, the last thing I want is to open up a bed and breakfast for weary travelers unable to figure out what gender I am! I am perfectly happy to spend my life alone and two visitors in eight years has been two too many. Besides, it makes a better story this way."

"I still don't like it," Mrs. Potts muttered to herself. She felt sorry for the small, round man. He had seemed like such a sweetheart.

"Then, my dear, you can be the one to sneak up and free him two night hence. But don't get your hopes up, I don't think he's interested in a wife made of fine china." Mrs. Potts' porcelain complexion meant that no one would see her blush, but the shriek of air from her spout got the point across just as accurately.

She stared the servants down until, one by one, they slunk away. Then she let herself slide down in the chair and covered her face with her hands. Why was it that every little game she tried to play met with disapproval? It wasn't as though she was going to hurt the poor little man. Mrs. Potts was right about that, he was far too pathetic.

She knew enough to admit to herself that she was not really mad about being called Sir. After all, if she had cared, she would be wearing skirts, with a hole cut for the tail. It was the fact that people could not tell, the fact that she was covered in fur from head to toe, the fact that he reminded her that she was not here because she wanted to be. The fear in his eyes meant that she was a prisoner, not a recluse. As long as no one was around, she could pretend that she never left because there was nothing outside she wanted.

Once upon a time, Alexandrina would have been thrilled to never have to face the world again, but now…God, there was a whole planet out there and she would never be able to see it again. And this stupid, pudgy man had more of a right to it than she did.

For a brief moment, Alix toyed with the idea of making said pudgy old man fall in love with her, but dismissed it as laughably impossible. Besides, she didn't want to be trapped into a loveless marriage as a way out. She would rather remain a beast forever than convince herself to fall in love to break the spell. For a love like that would never last. And, in her heart of hearts, she was afraid that it would not matter. She could choose the ugliest, most unimpressive pauper on the planet and he still would not be able to find it in his heart to love her.

Still, she thought as she heaved herself out of the chair and onto all fours, he would provide a day or two of entertainment. And then life could go back to normal and she could pretend that everything was all right. Even though nothing would ever be all right again.

The night moved slowly and no one in the castle really got enough sleep. Maurice finally dropped off from exhaustion as the first rays of the sun kissed the horizon. As he began gently snoring, Ger was already on his way into the forest, riding hard with nothing but some food, medicine and a spare blanket stashed in the saddlebags.

Philippa was not pleased to be back in the forest, even with the more sensible of her two owners on her back. Ger paid careful attention to where she was leading him, shaking his head in silent disapproval as the mare led him right past the turnoff towards Clermont Ferraud and on towards the forest. Leave it to his father to forget to get off the road in time.

Philippa picked her way carefully through the forest until they reached a turnoff. She turned her head to look warily down the left-hand path, then turned resolutely towards the other one.

Ger didn't have to think that hard to read what she was saying. "Sorry, sweetheart," he said, patting her neck affectionately, "But we're going this way again." She snorted at him and stamped her foot. "I know, I know," he continued, "You didn't like this last time. But we're going this way."

Philippa tossed her head, but followed her master's instructions and set off down the path at a slow walk. When Ger tried to hurry her along, she looked up at him reproachfully, but did as she was told.

They were on the road for at least six hours before Philippa finally refused to go any further. Ger was amazed at how lost his father had managed to become. They were nowhere near anything familiar. Ger vowed that Maurice was never traveling anywhere on his own again, he would end up somewhere in the Americas. He looked around, trying to figure out why his horse had stopped here. Nothing, however, caught Ger's eye, so he took Philippa's bridle in hand and led her forward. She clearly did not want to follow, but she was a well-trained mare and certainly did not want to be left alone in the woods. She trusted Ger, at least if he was in front.

The road was a fairly thin track and Ger was trusting to his father's good sense that, if he'd fallen or been thrown off, he would not have wandered far from the road. Then again, Ger thought wryly, his father hadn't been suffering from a surfeit of good sense recently. He kept his eyes peeled, but stayed near the road, afraid of getting lost as well. He figured that if he went far enough and still didn't find his father, he could always retrace his steps. He refused to consider the possibility that the reason he could not find Maurice was because something had already gotten to him.

After an hour's worth of trudging on foot, the track deposited them in front of a forbidden-looking castle. The gate was closed, but unlocked and the rusty chain that had been holding it closed was resting on the ground nearby. Ger approached it cautiously. The drive up to the castle was clear, except for one forlorn looking hat resting right in the middle.

Ger didn't need to move any closer to identify the hat, but he picked it up anyway and stuffed it in his pocket. On the one hand, he was grateful his father had found any shelter…yet he was not reassured by the presence of this castle.

He knocked cautiously on the door, wondering who in heaven's name would wish to live here and, more importantly, why someone with such obvious wealth would never be mentioned in Molyneaux. After all, if there was a lord nearby, what was Genevieve doing chasing him?

There was no answer to any of those questions so, like his father beforehand, Ger opened the door and stepped inside.

_**T.B.C.**_

A/N – Well, the last chapter sparked quite a discussion. I have to admit, I expected more people to disapprove of Ger than actually did. I was fascinated, actually, to see what reasons people used to justify his actions. And, of course, it was nice to hear from the one person who did think that Ger's behavior was not justified (from a human, not authorial perspective), who also gave great reasons. Fortunately, I'm the chronicler and not the judge of these characters, so I don't need to decide. I was just interested how you all viewed the character.

Right, moving on to _this_ chapter. Unfortunately, the objects have not changed much from their cinematic counterparts, so the scene remained fairly similar, at least until Alix made her reappearance. And some of the changes are actually due to the fact that certain scenes, specifically with overlapping dialogue, are a lot harder to convey with words than with actions. So Cogsworth protests can't overlap Lumiere's words and they all need specifiers, otherwise the writing falls flat. So necessity is the mother of revamped dialogue.

Now onto the more interesting changes. For clarity purposes, in this note, "The Beast" refers to the movie character, while Alix refers to my version of the beast. That way I don't need to specify all the time or come down decisively on either side of the Vincent/Adam debate. So, I sat down to write Alix's entrance and I was trying to figure out why she would do what she would do. Which meant figuring out why the Beast did what he did. He's a real jerk, you know, throwing Maurice in the dungeon to _die_ for no good reason. You'd think he'd have learned, by now, to be nice to old people knocking on the door. Anyway, I had two options. Either Alix didn't understand that people thrown in dungeons suffer and die there—which, seeing as she's now 18 or so, that doesn't work. I've made her too much of a reader not to understand that. Also, I kinda used that for the first time around, so that's a lesson she'd have learned by now. Or, alternatively, she never meant to keep Maurice there forever. Just for a day or two to scare him away and make sure that he never try and find the castle ever again. Which I think works well and also gives me a little more to work with when it comes to reforming her. She's not cruel…just selfish and self-centered.

Also, the Beast's relationship with the objects. Either they like him as some odd version of Stockholm syndrome (hmm…I'll have to think about that for a different fanfic) or he's not really that bad. Because, lets be honest, if he was really so terrible, why would they be so concerned for her even at the beginning? Which means he…and therefore Alix, must have some sort of working relationship with them. Not friendship, but some sort of camaraderie, that allows them to care about her. So I tried to convey that. And, for some reason, I can see her caring about Chip, maybe as a little brother/doll (which is how most older sisters see baby brothers anyway). Because Chip is never really scared of the Beast (even his uh-oh in the beginning never suggests that he's afraid of anything other than being yelled at). So that translated to him getting along, somewhat, with Alix.

A lot of these changes are not necessarily related to retelling the story with the genders switched, but to me retelling the story. In order to write a character, I have to get in their heads and, if I can't understand why they do everything they do, I can't write them. So some stuff just changes because it's passing through my brain on its way to paper. If you disagree with anything I've done, please do tell me, I would love to hear what you think and why and be more than happy to clarify or discuss (since, of course, I haven't done that yet!)

And there goes a whole page of author's notes. I love you all, you're all the best, write me a review and you'll get even more of an ego boost!

Damian


	7. Deal With the Devil

**Chapter 7 – Deal With the Devil**

Ger's first thought, upon entering the castle, was what in the world could have possessed his father to come in here. The place was dark and utterly deserted, with no sign of servants or even human habitation at all. That would explain, he mused, why no one in the village ever spoke about it, it must have been deserted for years on end and why would the villagers be interested in something that had happened at least a decade ago?

Ger, however, was fascinated. There was a giant, deserted castle all for him to explore and it was probably chock full of old books and strange gadgets. Perhaps, he reflected, that was how his father had ended up here. He had gotten lost and, upon seeing such a large and imposing edifice, just had to enter and explore. And had gotten distracted by the place, which would not surprise Ger in the least. Sometimes Ger wondered if his mother had had any influence on him at all while she was alive; he was so similar to his father in many ways.

Unbeknownst to Ger, his passage through the giant foyer was not going unnoticed. A little teacup watched curiously as Ger walked purposely through the room, searching in a cursory manner in case his father was, for whatever inexplicable reason, lurking in one of the corners. Ger completely overlooked Chip, though, which made sense since he was a little teacup.

It was only when Ger was lured out of the room by the sound of muffled voices that Chip dared to move. He darted out of the room and towards the kitchen.

"Mama," he said excitedly, "There's a man in the castle."

"Yes, Chip," Mrs. Potts said wearily. "Her Grace found him last night, remember."

"No, Mama," Chip said with exasperation. "Another one! And this one is big and tall! Do you think he'll want to play with me?"

"Oh, Chip," Mrs. Potts said, scooping up her son. "You shouldn't make up stories like that! I know its lonely here, but it's not fair to get everyone's hope-"

"No, really, Mama! I saw him!"

Mrs. Potts splashed him into the soapy tub before he could say another word. "It's time for your bath!" she said firmly, indicating that the subject was closed.

Fortunately for Chip, however, Ger's passage through the castle had been observed by other servants as well.

"Have you heard the news?" exclaimed the feather duster as she sashayed into the kitchen.

"What is it, Babette?" asked Mrs. Potts.

"There is a man in the castle! A big, strong, ever-so-good-looking man!" Babette grinned widely.

"See!" Chip said happily. "I told you!"

Ger, of course, had no idea what sort of consternation his trip through the castle was causing. He was calling out sporadically, trying to get his father to respond. He hoped to hear Maurice's voice, or any voice for that matter, to give him some indication of where to go next in the mazelike stone halls of the castle. It was, actually, the sound of voices that drew him down a certain corridor. He had been convinced that the castle was deserted, but now was not so sure.

The voice Ger heard was emanating from an extremely irate clock, who was giving Lumiere quite the talking to for his behavior last night. Cogsworth had begun by explaining to Lumiere just what was so wrong with his behavior, but had now moved on to insulting him outright.

"Irresponsible, devil-may-care, waxy-eared, slacked jawed-"

"Papa?" Ger called out, hardly daring to hope that the voice he heard in the distance was his father.

Both objects went still and silent. Ger walked slowly through the room, his keen eyes searching for any sign of his father or any other human being at all. Of course, he found none, and so passed through the hall and out the doorway on the other side.

"Did you see that?" Lumiere hissed excitedly.

"Of course I did," Cogsworth moaned. "Another intruder, can you imagine what Her Grace will do now?"

"Mon ami," Lumiere said with a shake of his head, "You did not see what I saw."

Cogsworth sputtered indignantly. "Of course I did, you wax-brained nincompoop! I saw a gentleman…" He paused as Lumiere glared at him and it sank in "…a tall, young, good-looking gentleman."

"Exactly, "Lumiere said with satisfaction, "Something tells me our mistress will react quite differently to the sight of him."

Cogsworth stared at Lumiere in disbelief, before shaking his head and turning away. "In any case, we must ensure that he remains in the castle."

"And our best hope for that is to lead him to his father, don't you think?"

Before the clock could even open his mouth to tell Lumiere off, the candelabrum was up and running, heading right after their latest intruder. With a long-suffering sigh, Cogsworth set off on his heels.

Ger heard the creak of a door and whirled around in the direction of the sound. The light patter of feet confirmed it for him. Someone was wandering around this castle. "Papa?" Ger called out expectantly. There was no answer, but the footsteps continued to recede, so Ger set off after them. Even if he was following someone other than his father, at least he was following someone. Maybe that someone could help him out.

"It's working," Lumiere hissed excitedly to Cogsworth as the two of them tramped down the hall, trying to make as much noise as possible in order to simulate the gait of a full sized man.

"And where are you two off to?" purred a voice on their left. Both Lumiere and Cogsworth gasped aloud at hearing their mistress's voice.

"Say something," Lumiere muttered, elbowing Cogsworth in what would have been his ribs.

"We, um, were…looking for you!" Cogsworth finally stammered out.

"Oh really?" Alix said, raising one eyebrow. "What for?"

Ger noticed that voices had replaced the sound of footsteps and sped up.

"Yes," Cogsworth continued, warming to the idea. "We absolutely needed to find you because something strange has happened."

"And you couldn't deal with it yourself because..?"

"Well, Your Grace, it is rather complicated." Cogsworth took a deep breath and prepared to do what he was best at—drone on.

"Thank you, mon ami," Lumiere said fervently as he doubled back, not envying the clock in the slightest when he thought of what the mistress's response would be when she realized she was being distracted. But it would be terrible for the boy to run straight into the mistress and run away in fright. It would be better to give him a reason to stick around.

Lumiere waited until the boy was literally walking past before pushing open a door and stomping through.

Ger stopped in his tracks; the sound of the door creaking just a few feet away had startled him. There were still voices coming from up ahead, but he had been after them for a while, and didn't seem to be drawing any nearer, while there seemed to be another denizen of this castle a couple yards hence.

He turned in through the just opened door and through a passageway or three, always just far enough behind so that he could not see his quarry.

Lumiere gasped for breath as he reached the stairs up to the tower; the boy was surprisingly fast and he was not in the same shape he had been ten years earlier. He leapt up the stairs and, struck by a brilliant idea, jumped into one of the small alcoves along the curving stone wall of the spiral staircase that was perfectly suited to hold a candelabrum.

Ger was right on his heels, still occasionally calling for his father in the somewhat vain hope that he would get a response. He was getting more and more annoyed at the unseen inhabitants of the castle who seemed perfectly content to ignore his calls.

He was halfway up the stairs of the tower, convinced that he had his quarry cornered, when he stopped to grab the lit candelabrum in the niche. His hand was unsteady and though he did not knock it over, the lamp rattled in its niche.

Maurice was sitting despondently in his cell. Though it had barely been twelve hours since he had been incarcerated, it felt like days. He was cold and still damp, shivering in the bluish white light that filtered through the high, barred windows. It didn't feel any warmer than the night, despite the increased light, and Maurice felt his chest tightening and his nose becoming stuffier as the hours went on. He sniffled and blew his nose on an already sodden handkerchief he kept in his pockets. If he were the sort to despair, he would be wishing for death by now. But that was not Maurice's way; he was more concerned about the young man he had left home and how upset Ger would be when he found out what had happened.

A clatter on the stairs attracted his attention. Maurice looked up in surprise. "Is anyone there?" he asked, half dreading the response.

Ger did drop the candelabrum at that point and bolted up the stairs. "Papa?" he called out, hoping his father's voice would respond once again. And this time, Maurice did reply. He called his son's name in a disbelieving voice as Ger rounded the corner and skidded to a dead stop in the middle of the dungeon.

"Papa, what have you done?" Ger demanded.

Maurice couldn't help but chuckle weakly at his son's words, though the laugh quickly became a hacking cough. "Don't worry about that," he said, with a wave of his hand. "You have-"

"Good point," Ger interrupted. "First priority is to get you out of here. Are the keys anywhere around here?"

"Ger, listen to me," Maurice began desperately.

"Probably not, that sort of idiocy only occurs in bad theatre. What about a crowbar? I wonder if one of those is nearby."

"Ger, you have to get out of here!"

"Don't worry, we will. This'll only take a minute."

"No, Ger, it's too dangerous."

Ger looked up. "Too dangerous? The only danger I can see is of you freezing to death."

"Trust me, Ger, this place is far more perilous than even you can handle."

Ger shook his head and pulled out his pocketknife in order to try and pick the lock.

"Ger, you have to get out of here!" Maurice protested, the panic in his voice rising.

"Why?" Ger asked, well on his way to being convinced that the chill had addled his father's wits.

"This place, it's dangerous. It's ruled over by a-"

"By a what?" Ger interrupted, impatient with the lock that just would not give.

"By a Beast," purred a voice at Ger's back.

Gervaise Dupont had the presence of mind to shift the grip on his pocketknife as he turned around slowly to face the interloper. Maurice moaned in terror—he didn't care what happened to himself, but the thought that this monster would hurt Ger was something he couldn't bear. Maurice was not a violent man, but were it not for the heavy wood and iron door, he would have flung himself at that beast and fought it with his bare hands if it meant giving Ger a chance to escape.

"Hello," said the Beast in a soft, rumbling voice that shook Ger to his very bones. "I don't believe we've met. I'm the Beast, this is my castle."

Ger stared at the Beast in disbelief. Perhaps he had spent too long in University, for all he could think of was that the sight before him was impossible. This creature—part bear, part lion, all too human and wearing, of all things, a purple dress—simply could not exist.

"Now it's your turn," the Beast continued. "You introduce yourself, tell me what you are doing trespassing in my castle."

"Rescuing my father," Ger answered immediately. The reminder that his father was still trembling in his cell was enough to shake him out of his thoughts. Impossible or not, this creature was endangering Maurice's life and Ger would not stand for that.

"Really?" asked the Beast. "Who are you to question my judgment?"

"Who are you to lock a man up for no good reason?"

"He trespassed. That's reason enough."

"But it's freezing! He's going to die if you leave him in here!" Ger nearly screamed.

Alix stared at him, words from a lifetime ago echoing in her head. As clear as crystal and as deadly cold as ice, she heard the wavering voice of the enchantress begging for shelter, pleading not to die. And even further in the distance, she remembered her mother's screams and her father's shouts, washing through the palace like the waves of the sea, unending and unforgiving. It had been so long, so very long since she had last thought of her parents. She had almost forgotten what losing them had felt like.

"Please," said Ger, taking the opportune silence to beg for his father's life for he knew, with all his bravado, that he would never be able to face down this monster. "There must be something I can do."

"You can't do anything!" the Beast snarled. "No one can ever do anything! Now get out of my sight before I lock you up as well."

An idea sparked in Ger's mind. "I'll make you a deal," he said, mastering the quaver of fear in his voice. "Let my father go and I'll stay in his place."

"What?" Alix asked, convinced she hadn't heard correctly.

"What?" Maurice nearly shouted, convinced his son had lost his mind.

"He goes free, I'll stay. Do we have a bargain?"

"Gervaise Dupont, don't you dare go through with this."

"Why?" Alix asked softly, stepping forward into the gleam of moonlight that shone through a hole in the rooftop. Ger did not even flinch as the bluish glow cast the Beast's craggy features into even sharper relief and made her look all the more terrible. "Why would you suffer to remain here, under the thumb of a monster, who would as soon kill a man as look at him?"

"Wouldn't you, if you were in my place?" Ger answered, and then cursed his own fast-moving tongue. What would a monster know of familial obligations, of honor and duty?

Alix stared at her new prisoner, looking for any signs of deception, any lie in his voice. He seemed to genuinely believe what he was saying and she remembered, oh how she remembered the pain of losing her parents and the dreadful wish that she could have been taken in that blaze instead of them. She cringed, half wanting to make this boy feel what she felt for the past seven years and half sympathetic to his plight.

She had no recollection of making the decision, all she could recall was walking towards the door, the boy scrambling to get out of her way, and literally ripping it open. The old man shrunk back against the edges of the cell. "Please don't do this," he whimpered. "Please spare my son!"

"He's no longer your concern," Alix snapped, grabbing him by the scruff of his neck and pulling him out of the cell. Ger didn't even have a chance to protest Maurice's rough treatment at the Beast's hands before they were out of the room. Ger nearly got up to follow them out, but remembered in time that he was now a prisoner and it would be foolish for him to leave his gaol. Still, he stared out the window at the driveway leading up to the castle and winced as his father was manhandled into some strange contraption and sent back home to the village.

The Beast was back in the dungeon in a trice, but Ger did not take the time to marvel at her travel speed. "You didn't have to be so rough with him," Ger growled at her. She growled back, baring her teeth, and turned her back on him.

"Your Grace," said a quiet voice by Alix's feet. She knelt to pick up the candelabrum, who had born witness to the events and was madly racking his brains for any way to salvage the situation.

"Yes, Lumiere?" Alix responded, though her gaze remained focused on Ger, who was busy staring at the small speck in the distance that was his father's conveyance.

"What plans do you have for the boy?"

Alix smiled wolfishly. "Well, since he was so anxious to take his father's place, I say we leave him here." And she began her descent.

"But-" Lumiere began, though he was cut off by the full force of his mistress's glare.

"You have something to add?"

Seven year ago, Lumiere would never have dared respond; none of the palace staff would have. Things, though, had changed since then and Lumiere did not like to see their best and last hope left up in a dungeon to rot. Besides, the worst that the Princess could do at this point was dent him.

"Well, I was just thinking that, since the boy is going to be with us for quite some time, you might want to treat him a bit better than a filthy straw bed and a frozen tower."

"He made his bed," Alix said with a sniff, "Let him lie in it."

"I don't think he realized quite how uncomfortable that bed is going to be," Lumiere said ruefully.

"That, monsieur, is not my problem." The drawl in Alix's voice made Lumiere shut his mouth with a snap and the topic was not broached again, though Alix did not forget her maitre'd's words.

"I cannot believe I am doing this," she muttered, fifteen minutes later as she climbed the stairs to the dungeon once again, this time with a mercifully non-sentient candle in her hands. She still had no intention of letting the boy leave the dungeon, but Lumiere's worried tone signified to her that maybe there was a good reason to let him down.

Ger was sitting in the corner, still gazing out the window with a distracted air. Alix tried to tiptoe into the room so as not to disturb his reverie, but she was out of practice, insofar as tiptoeing was concerned.

"Did you have to send him away so quickly?" Ger said to the footfalls behind him. "I didn't have a chance to say goodbye."

Alix looked at her new prisoner; his words made her think he was about to burst into tears, but his eyes were calm and dry.

"I wanted him out of here," Alix answered Ger. "As did you, if I recall correctly."

"I would have still liked to have bid him farewell," Ger responded. Ger was exhausted from not having slept the night before, from having ridden hell for leather to find his father and from having faced down the Beast and won. He just wanted to curl up and sleep, the morning would come soon enough and he would deal with this unholy mess then. There would be time to scream, time to snarl, time to fight his fate soon enough. But now, all he really wanted was a warm bed. Failing that, a cold bed would have to do.

Ger rolled over on the straw, his back to the Beast. Alix still watched his every move with a strange fascination. His presence here was extremely displeasing to her, but she could think of nothing to do about that. She was even tempted to send him away, but she didn't dare let him go. He was the only human left in this place and he, at least looked intelligent enough to carry on a conversation.

And it doesn't hurt that he is quite impressively built, commented a sly voice in the back of her mind. Alix suppressed that thought ruthlessly, though it was perfectly true. She didn't have time for foolishness like that.

"Are you still there?" Ger yawned, hoping that the Beast would go away and let him rest in peace.

Alix wanted to retort in some brilliant, witty manner. What she actually said was "I've been preparing your room for you, since you seem to think the tower so unhealthy."

"If it was good enough for my father-" Ger began pointedly.

"Yes, and that was back when the cell had a lock."

"It's not my fault you ripped the door off."

Heaven help her, Alix was ready to rip his arm off. What did he think he was doing, sassing the beast? "No," she growled through gritted teeth. "It's not. Now get up and follow me before I have to drag you out by your pretty brown hair!"

Ger rose languidly, giving Alix another not-wholly unappreciated view of his physique. "As you wish, Milady."

"I am no Lady," Alix hissed, staring him full in the face. "I am the Beast! You will address me as such and you would be wise not to forget it."

Ger nodded in response, perfectly cowed by his hostess's sudden reaction. It was an all too real reminder that this wasn't a game; this was his life with which he was being so profligate.

Tomorrow, he yawned, covering his mouth as he followed the Beast down the halls. I'll deal with all this tomorrow. He made his way past the legions of gargoyles who flanked the halls, but he was too tired to spare them more than a cursory glance. He paid almost no attention to his surroundings until he nearly tripped over the Beast, who had stopped in her tracks before a perfectly ordinary door.

"This is your room," she said. Ger nodded sleepily. "You are confined to the castle and the grounds, set one foot outside my gate and I will not be answerable for the consequences. You are welcome to go anywhere you like in the castle, except the West Wing."

"Why?" Ger asked without thinking.

"Because I said so," Alix answered with a low growl in her voice.

"No, why aren't you locking me in? Why are you letting me roam the castle freely, but you lock up my fath-"

"Because you chose this exile!" Alix roared at him. "You didn't have to do the right thing, you could have left your father-"

"To die?" Ger exclaimed. "What kind of a monster do you think I am?"

"What kind of a monster do you think _I_ am?" Alix screamed back, "That I would kill a man for seeking shelter from a storm. He was to have been set free tonight and sent home!"

Ger stared at his gaoler in astonishment. Alix shook her head, yanked open the door, shoved Ger in and slammed it behind her, leaving the poor boy staring at the blank mahogany wood as he heard the Beast storm off.

"To hell with this," he groaned. "I've had enough for one day." He sank down on the bed and, without even removing his boots, he slipped into a troubled sleep, filled with all the nightmares that he had refused to think about before going to bed.

He hoped, when he awoke, that he would find it all to be a dream. But that is one of those hopes that is ever doomed to go unfulfilled.

_**T.B.C.**_

A/N – I seem to have picked up quite a few more readers recently, so hello to you all! Umm, issues to address…

I was having a hard time trying to get Alix and Ger to do what they were supposed to do until I stopped trying to think of them as having to do what they are supposed to do, if that makes sense. Alix, in particular, did not fit well with most of the stuff that the Beast does. Part of that is an acknowledgment of character difference – his main issue is an angry heart while her issue is a cold heart. So he does things without thinking, like lock up an old man for trespassing because he made him angry. While Alix should have a little more sense than that, but she does things as an ongoing attempt to remain aloof and above and arrogant. She's hard because, sometimes more than the Beast, her actions really do need to be calculated and the movie is not geared towards making that easier. But I think everything here makes sense so far, though I am more than open to criticism if any of you disagree.

Also, this will be remarked upon several times, mostly because I'm still trying to explain it—when the enchanted objects get to act and behave and use their lines from the movies. They will, I can't help it. They are characterized by the movie so it is often their behavior in the movie that best fits a given circumstance. Dialogue is easy to change, as long as they're not talking to someone unchanged. But, for example, it's hard to come up with a new argument for Lumiere and Cogsworth when the old one is so much fun.

Anyway, I hope you all enjoyed and will forgive me the length of time between updates. I have no excuses as usual, just the general reassurance that the few people who would be willing to hunt me down and force me to update would have to cross the Atlantic first.


	8. First Consequences

**Chapter 8 – First Consequences**

As Ger drifted off into a troubled sleep, the servants stood nervously outside his door. Alix had already stomped down the stairs and no one wanted to risk her wrath by following her.

"What do we do now?" whispered Lumiere.

"I don't know, _ma cherie_," Babette replied with a worried smile. "It was all going so well, too."

Cogsworth snorted. "If this is going well, I do dread what things will look like when they begin to go badly."

"Show some faith, mon ami," Lumiere said with a brave grin. "Perhaps a good night's sleep will work wonders."

"That never cured Her Grace before," Babette said with a sniff. " I fail to see why it will work this time."

"Patience, all of you," said Mrs. Potts as she reached the top of the stairs and looked at the forlorn group. "It's only a few hours since the boy arrived and the mistress has already installed him in one of the finest guest rooms."

"True," Cogsworth said, twisting the hands of his clock handed mustache nervously. "Yet how can we even hope that he overcomes, well, you all know what she's like!"

"We do indeed," Lumiere murmured. "On the other hand, our new guest might not. Perhaps we can convince him that the mistress really is not all that bad."

The others stared at him in shock. "But, _mon flamme_," protested Babette, "She really is that bad."

"If anyone has a chance of changing her, it's him," Lumiere asserted. "He stood up to her before…no one has ever done that."

They all paused to think about that.

"Maybe you are right," Mrs. Potts admitted. Cogsworth nodded, loathe to admit that the maitre'd had a point, but unwilling to dampen the mood that Lumiere's sliver of hope had given them. "In any case, one of us should be downstairs in case the mistress needs anything."

"She needs a good spanking," Babette muttered rebelliously.

"Yes, dear, but we're far too small to provide it," said Mrs. Potts with equanimity. "And she's far too old to appreciate it."

"Or not old enough," Lumiere murmured into Babette's ear. She whirled on him with a scandalized smile. "Still, Mrs Potts, you are right. We must wait and see.

Mrs. Potts went back down to try and discover the whereabouts of their elusive mistress, should she need anything.

Alix had stormed down to the library in order to sulk. She slumped down in her favorite armchair—recognizable by the prominent claw marks in the upholstery. "Stupid boy," she muttered to herself, digging her nails into the wood and adding a few more scratches to the mahogany surface. "Stupid, arrogant, little boy." Little was, perhaps, not the most accurate of descriptions as Ger was about as tall as Alix herself. Still, she had seen the look in Lumiere's eyes when the maitre'd was staring at their visitor. He was obviously thinking of Ger as their key to breaking the spell. Alix snarled softly—did her servants really think that she would stoop to marry a common boy from nowhere with a father who did not have the good sense to stay out of other peoples' dungeons? Besides, she could marry the father for all the good it would do; he had to fall in love with her as well. Alix rolled her eyes and looked down at her claws. Even before she had threatened his life and imprisoned him, she didn't have that much of a chance, but now? It was almost ludicrous to consider. And so Alix decided she was going to ignore him entirely. It was a large castle; she need never even remember that there was a stupid arrogant boy living here as well.

"No," she said softly to herself. "However annoying he is, he has at least shown himself to be a man." She owed Ger that much for his courage. Or idiotic bravery, however you looked at it. In either case, it was just the sort of move that she could admire a character in one of her books for doing. She could not help admiring Ger for it as well, daring to spend eternity cooped up with a horrible beast. If their positions had been reversed, she doubted she could have withstood the test and she most certainly would never fall in love with the monster. Not that Ger was likely to take that path, not if he had half a brain. And if he turned out not to possess a modicum of sense and actually fell for her, she could never fall in love with someone that abominably stupid, even to save her own existence.

"This is pointless," she growled to herself. "The spell is not meant to be broken, no matter what my deluded servants seem to think. The enchantress put that line about falling in love into the curse in order to give me false hope and make my twenty-first birthday even more miserable. I've seen through her ruse, I will not fall for the mirage of salvation." Alix leaned back in the chair and closed her eyes. "I am well and truly damned already. I might as well get over it."

* * *

Back in Molyneaux, the town was buzzing with the most surprising news anyone had heard since the Duponts had first arrived at the town. Genevieve had not been seen since Ger said those terrible, awful things about her; she'd dashed out of the tavern and up the stairs to her own room, locking the door behind her. One rumor was that she was pining away in her bedroom for love of him, but the other rumor said that she would marry the man who brought her Ger's head on a pike, so it was not entirely easy to tell what Mademoiselle Avenant's true feelings were. The village boys had been far more inclined to believe the latter, which was part of the reason they had set off for the Dupont home at first light. Genevieve was their lady love and no one should ever be allowed to insult her and get away with it. They were disappointed, therefore, to find that Ger had quite literally gotten away with it; there was no sign of him or his father and the house was locked. Someone had ridden out earlier that morning, which was pretty impressive since the boys were there a few minutes after sunrise.

"The coward must have turned tail and ran," said the baker's younger son contemptuously.

"Wouldn't you," muttered the fishmonger's son. "If Genevieve were that angry with me, I would never stay around to hear about it."

"Genevieve would never be that angry with me, since I would never do anything to harm her," replied the boy virtuously. "And if I did, I would offer her my life as forfeit."

All the other boys laughed at him and he blushed a fierce crimson.

"Let's go," said the baker's elder son. "Father will have our hides if we are late." The boys trudged back to their daily labors, though they were all unusually distracted that day by the thought of Genevieve, up in her room, suffering from Ger's cruelty.

Genevieve was indeed suffering. It was nearing sunset and she had yet to move from her room where she replayed the incident in her head over and over, with the same sort of brutal satisfaction one gets from poking at a bruise to see if it still hurts. She still had trouble believing that it had actually happened. One minute, everything was going according to plan, but then it was as though all her carefully made plans disappeared in a puff of smoke. Ger's words themselves did not cut that deeply, as Genevieve was an expert at ignoring any truths that did not fit in with her view of the world. It was the fact that he said it in front of everyone that stung so badly.

"If only he'd expressed his reservations beforehand," Genevieve lamented to Laliene, who sat, docile, by her feet, looking up with a sympathetic expression.

"Why?" Laliene asked, confused. "He still would have said no."

"Yes, but then I could have explained to him why he didn't really mean no."

"Oh," Laliene nodded. That made sense; Genevieve was always explaining why she, Laliene, was wrong and that, when she was thinking one thing, what she really meant was something exactly opposite. It was reassuring to know that Ger had this problem too.

"Stupid boy," Genevieve hissed to herself. "He had no right to stand up there and say such things about me." It did not matter that they were not true, Genevieve's empire was based on her ability to give off the perfect image. She had learned, at a very young age, that people believed what you wanted them to, if you just made an effort. She decided to be the most beautiful woman around and, with a little bit of conviction, she had achieved that status. And now this upstart little brat was going to simply stroll in and detrone her? She would never allow it to happen. The problem with Ger, however, was that he seemed almost as stubborn as Genevieve herself. And then there was the truly terrifying thought that haunted her.

Genevieve looked down at Laliene and, unable to resist, asked the question that had been gnawing at her like a canker sore. "What if…what if people actually believe him?"

Laliene stared at Genevieve in shock. "How can you say such things?" she gasped. "No one could ever think that you are anything other than perfect."

"Ger apparently does," Genevieve retorted drily.

"But, but, he's wrong. You said so yourself."

Genevieve rolled her eyes and turned away from Laliene. "He still said them," Genevieve muttered. "And no one should dare speak to me that way."

"You need to stop thinking like this," Laliene proclaimed loudly; her friend's melancholy was making her surprisingly brave. "Come downstairs, you'll see that everyone still thinks you're wonderful."

"But-" Genevieve began to protest. Laliene didn't even hear her. Genevieve's lackey was so intent on proving how useful she was that she completely missed the fact that Genevieve did not want any favors. She wanted Ger to acknowledge how wonderful she was, nothing else would do.

"Come on Genevieve," Laliene called up the stairs. A chorus of voices joined in after that, begging and pleading with the beautiful Genevieve to come down and grace them with her presence.

She wanted to resist, but the lure of flattery was one that she had never been able to withstand. She descended the stairs slowly, head held high so that she did not need to meet the eyes of anyone in the room. These were her stalwart admirers, there was no worry that they would betray her. Then again, she might have been more worried were she not already being greeted by thunderous cheers and shouts.

She stepped lightly off the last step and made her way to her throne, seating herself carefully so as not to give any outward signs that her feathers were in the least bit ruffled.

"Now," Laliene whispered loud enough for the whole room, including Genevieve, to hear, "Only talk about how wonderful she is, not about _you know who_."

Genevieve clenched her fist, though part of her mind acknowledged how ludicrously funny Laliene would have been in other circumstances.

Fortunately, Raisse, Doreen and Aveline had a bit more sense than their cohort and they flung themselves at Genevieve's feet, telling her how thrilled they were to have her back amongst them.

The boys all agreed, remaining at a respectful distance, but gazing at her with adoring spaniel eyes. Genevieve focused her gaze on the ceiling, trying to avoid paying any attention to her legion of worshipers. She did not need to relish their esteem, it was a fact of her life.

Yet, as their words rained down on her, telling her about the beauty of her hair, the flawlessness of her skin, the impeccable set of her chin, Genevieve found herself not entirely immune to their ego-restoring power. "Well," she conceded, smoothing her skirt, "I suppose I am a rather exquisite beauty."

"Oh, you are!" the room chorused. "Of course you are."

"You make the most wonderful curtsies," cried out one man.

"And your gowns are always the most expertly tailored," shouted another.

"Your eyes are as blue as the summer-sky!" said the baker's younger son, but he was always getting carried away.

The boys moved from her eyes to the blush in her cheeks, to the form of her nose, to the red of her lips and, tactfully skipping over a substantial amount that most certainly deserved praise, went straight to exclaiming how dainty her feet were.

It was not long before Genevieve's defenses were entirely down and she was enjoying the lauding of her praises almost as much as Laliene was enjoying thinking up new things to praise her for. The day actually seemed to be looking up until the old man entered.

Maurice stumbled into the tavern, clutching at the doorframe in order to remain standing. His ride had taken him to the edge of the village, at which point it summarily ejected him and trotted off. Maurice stared after the contraption in horror, half tempted to follow it back to the castle and plead for his son's life. Had the strange conveyance moved slower, he might have done so, but it was out of sight before the idea was even fully formed in his mind. Maurice could not shake the idea that he had to return and rescue Ger. He did not have an unrealistic view of his own powers and knew that, on his own, he did not stand a chance against the beast. After all, Ger had caved before the monster, what chance did he have alone?

His eyes alighted on the cheerfully lit tavern and it dawned on Maurice that that which one man could not do alone might be accomplished by a group together.

Maurice shoved the door open and fell into the warm tavern, nearly tripping over his own feet in his haste to get to someone, anyone at all to help him in his cause.

"Please," he stuttered, grabbing hold of the nearest man by his collar, "Please, you have to help me! He's been kidnapped, locked up!"

The man, who happened to be the fishmonger, shoved Maurice away. Undaunted, Maurice turned to the next person, but the miller rebuffed him just as easily. And then Maurice laid eyes on Genevieve. He remembered the love that she was purported to have for his son and realized that, if anyone could convince the townsfolk to rescue Ger, it would be her.

"Genevieve," he cried, flinging himself at her feet, "Genevieve please, you have to help me rescue Ger! Please, Genevieve, he's been taken, locked away!"

At the mention of Ger's name, there was a murmur of anger throughout the room. Maurice did not even hear it. Genevieve looked down at him, realizing that Ger's father had no idea what crime his son had committed the night before. That was no reason to desist from visiting the sins of the son of the head of the father, though.

"Slow down, Monsieur," Genevieve said with a saccharine smile. "Slow down and speak clearly. What has happened to Ger?"

"He's been kidnapped by a beast! A horrible monstrous beast!"

There was a moment of utter silence.

"A beast, you say?" Genevieve asked, her smile widening.

The room took their cues from her. "Was it a big beast?" asked one man.

"It was huge," Maurice replied, gesticulating wildly with his hands.

The teasing went on as the men of the village, under the guise of hunting for information, asked Maurice to describe more of the fantastical beast. Genevieve watched at they stood in a semicircle around him, cutting off any route to the exit. She chuckled; it was like watching a dog too stupid to know it was trapped.

Genevieve beckoned to the baker's two sons and whispered instructions to them.

"Alright, Monsieur," Genevieve said and, with a simple wave of her hand, caused the men of the village to back off. "We'll help you _out_."

The baker's boys took Maurice's arms and chucked him callously out the door, slamming it after him. Maurice stared back at the heavy wooden door in disbelief and immediately rose to his feet in order to try and force it open again. He hammered at it for some time, heedless of the chilling autumn breeze that whipped around him and the dark clouds' ominous promise that snow and winter would be coming early this year. He soon realized though that, if help was to come for Ger, it would not be from his fellow villagers, and so he set off dejectedly back to his little cottage, devastated to have failed his son so utterly.

Genevieve paid no attention to the hammering on the door; she was lost in self-congratulations for having exacted such fitting revenge on Ger. If he humiliated her in public, the least she could do was humiliate his father back. After all, Ger seemed to care for the pathetic old man and was clearly aware that his father needed looking after. If tonight's little display was any indication, the man did not need a son looking after him, but a doctor.

Genevieve smiled a slow, cruel smile. "Laliene," she said softly, beckoning to her friend, who trotted over immediately. "I've had a brilliant idea." Laliene gaped as Genevieve outlined her plan.

"Isn't that going to be dangerous?"

Genevieve shook her head. "I'll be in complete control the whole time, don't worry."

"Yes, but Monsieur D'Ar-"

"Hush!" Genevieve hissed. "We can't let anyone else know yet. Now, shall we go and drink to our success?"

"Are you sure that we'll succeed?" Laliene asked, biting her lip nervously.

Genevieve threw her head back and laughed. "I am Genevieve Avenant. The only thing that I cannot do is fail."

The room erupted in cheers at this declaration and then subsided in yet another toast to the sweetest, prettiest, smartest and all around best woman that the Good Lord ever placed on the earth.

_**T.B.C.**_

A/N – Err, hi all. It has been a while, hasn't it. Though I doubt any of you are interested in my excuses, the reason I was missing for about half a year was related to graduate school applications. If I had ever thought writing a story was difficult, writing 1000 words about myself is ten thousand times more so. So any and all of my free time went towards agonizing over that. And beating _The Legend of Zelda: Twilight Princess_ again. Anyway, notes on this section…as usual, if you're not interested in the strange and completely inexplicable workings of my brain, feel free to skip. However, you might want to read "Learning to Love – The Musical" anyway.

The Objects – I'm trying to flesh out all their characters a bit more, especially Babette's, since I'm not suffering under the constraint of the movie that everything has to be wrapped up in ninety minutes. Still, this story is not really their story, though they appear in it fairly often. From the beginning, at least for me, this was Alix and Genevieve's story. Yes, and Ger's too, but not yet. I don't really relate to the characters until they get some nice development going on and I get to watch them become who they are. So watching Genevieve fall or Alix grow is exciting. Ger has yet to begin any metamorphoses. He's going to have to, though, since he and Alix are not yet right for each other…oh, did I spoil the ending by telling you who was going to end up with whom? Thought not.

Oh No, I left out the "Will you come down to dinner" scene! – Yep. I did. It didn't fit with Alix' character, so I left it out.

Maurice – he pretty much does the same thing he did in the movie, this was more an exercise in understanding him than rewriting him.

Genevieve – Ditto here – this is really what Gaston would have done were he a bit brighter and female and constrained by the general rules that society places on female behavior. Of course, she's sulking in her room because, deep down, she's terrified that people believed Ger and also just horrified that it happened at all. Gosh, Genevieve is so much fun to write. Villainous character motivations rock! I was _this_ close to including a parody of "Gaston" for Genevieve, but her name has too many syllables and I couldn't get through a stanza without being indecorous. And that didn't stop me, and I took out most of the really obnoxious comments but I could not insert it in the middle of what might actually be a real story where people don't randomly burst into song. Also, frankly, there's only so much admiring one can do of the female form before it becomes inappropriate. So I couldn't put it in. As a reward for waiting this long for an update, though, I give you…

Learning to Love – The Musical!

Notes - Anything in brackets was deleted, but too funny not to acknowledge. G = Genevieve, L = Laliene, Tf = Townsfolk, B = Boys.

L -"Gosh it disturbs me to see you, Gen'vieve, looking so sad and so blue.

Every guy here'd love to [do] woo you, Gen'vieve, come on you know that it's true. There's no girl in town as admired as you, you're everybody's belle ideal.

Everyone's awed and inspired by you, it's so hard to believe that you're real.

No one's neat as Gen'vieve, no one's sweet as Gen'vieve, no one has such delectable feet as Gen'vieve.

For there's no girl in town half as pretty, perfect in every small way.

You can ask anyone in the city, but there's no reason to, we all know what they'll say.

Tf - No one's thin like Gen'vieve, always in like Gen'vieve, no one has such a delicate chin like Gen'vieve.

G - As a specimen, I am truly astounding.

Tf - My what a girl that Gen'vieve. Give five hurrahs, give twelve woo hoos!

L - Gen'vieve is the best and the rest are all shrews!

Tf - No on talks like Gen'vieve, no one walks like Gen'vieve, all the boys in town can't help but gawk at Gen'vieve.

B – For Gen'vieve has the most graceful body

G – As you see, I've got assets to spare.

L – Not a bit of her's saggy or lardy

G – That's right! And don't you forget my magnificent hair.

Tf – No one whirls like Gen'vieve, no one twirls like Gen'vieve, no one owns a necklace with real pearls like Gen'vieve.

G – I'm especially good at accessorizing.

Tf – Yippee, more gems for Gen'vieve.

G – When I was a lass, I'd look four times a day for a freckle or blemish or spot. And now that I'm grown I check five times a day to make sure I'll always be this hot.

Tf – No one sings like Gen'vieve, deserves wings like Gen'vieve, has all men on one knee with a ring like Gen'vieve.

G – I use satin in all of my decorating.

Tf – Say it again, who's the finest woman? And lets say it once more, who's the goddess next door? Who's the prettiest lass, [is the best piece of] don't you know can't you guess? Ask any boy in the whole village. There's just one girl in town whose got all of their love!

L – And her name's G-E-N…E… G-E-N-E-V-E, no, G-E-N-E-V-I…ugh!

Tf – Gen'vieve!

No, I am not doing the reprise.*

I hope you all appreciate that! Anyway, thank you all so much for reviewing and coming back to this story. I know it has been ages and I will try to be better about the next update. I just wanted to say how amazing you all are and how you keep me writing. Yay for readers! And, now that my life is back to normal, I will try to update more frequently. Remember – reviews always help.

Love,

Levana (Damian)

*Who has brains like Levana, entertains like Levana, who can make up these endless refrains like Levana?


	9. A Gilded Cage

**Chapter 9 – A Gilded Cage**

Alix had fallen asleep in the library; a circumstance that occurred so often that it no longer occasioned any comment from the servants. She had curled up in her favorite chair and, with her tail tucked up against her legs and looked like nothing so much as a contented cat—a very large, very intimidating contented cat. She also had a cat's temper and tendency to hate being woken up when she was comfortable, which was why Lumiere and Cogsworth were lurking in the doorway instead of going to speak to her.

"Are you sure that this is worth waking the mistress up for?" Cogsworth asked worriedly.

"The boy has not stirred since seven last night," Lumiere answered. "It's nearly noon now. What if he is sick?"

""The mistress is still asleep too!" Cogsworth protested. "Why should there be different rules for Her Grace and her guest?"

"Because," Lumiere said patiently, "Escalion saw her fall asleep at three in the morning." Escalion was the librarian's assistant and now took the form of a small, rolling staircase who was invaluable to anyone trying to reach a book that was just a bit too high.

"Poor Escalion," Cogsworth mused. "Needing to keep such hours."

"If he didn't let the rest of the library staff walk all over him, he would be much better off," Lumiere muttered.

"As opposed to letting Her Grace walk all over him?" Babette snickered as she sashayed over. "I thought you gentlemen might like to know that our visitor has awakened and your conundrum has been solved."

"Wonderful," Lumiere said. "What is he doing?"

"Taking a bath," answered Babette. "Now, if you don't mind, I'm going back up stairs. I might be needed."

"And what if I do mind?" Lumiere asked, scooting in front of her and blocking her exit.

Cogsworth covered his eyes and sighed. "Please, not again!"

"Then I suggest you do something about it," answered Babette coyly. Lumiere grinned at the feather duster and, sweeping her off her proverbial feet, they left the library.

"Lovers," Cogsworth muttered with all the disdain he could muster and stomped his way to the kitchen to find someone to order around.

The servants' quiet conversation had stirred Alix from her slumber, though they were all out of the room before she was properly awake. She yawned, fangs glittering in the sunlight, and rubbed her eyes sleepily. At this rate, she thought it was almost worth having someone make up a bed in this library.

The nice thing about being a Beast, she reflected as she meandered to the kitchens, was that she generally had very little to do to get properly attired in the morning. She was still human enough to feel that wandering around in just her fur was unacceptable (especially with Ger around), but a simple pair of breeches with a hole cut for the tail and a soft shirt was really all she needed. She had not enjoyed being fitted for her clothes when Madame de la Grande Bouche first insisted that she stop trying to wear whatever old clothes she could, but she was grateful to the matronly woman for having a wardrobe of comfortable clothes. Not that she would ever admit it, though it was possible that not tearing them to shreds was considered thanks enough.

"Tea," Alix said as she stepped into the kitchen. Chip bounded up to her, trying very hard not to get in the way of the mug who was hurrying over with the piping hot drink. Alix has explained to Chip that she could not drink from him and play with him at the same time, which was why he did not bring her tea and he accepted that as a perfectly reasonable answer. The real answer, of course, was that the mug held four times as much tea as Chip did and tea, like books and solitude, was one of those things Alix could never get enough of.

Alix smiled, though her smile slowly faded as Chip told her how he had waited all morning outside of Ger's door to get a glimpse of their visitor and how anxious he was for Ger to wake up so that they could all play together.

"Why do you want to play with him?" Alix asked, lips curled in a sneer. "How do you even know he wants to play with you?"

Chip paused; he hadn't thought of that. "I'll go and ask him," Chip decided. "Do you want to come too?"

Alix stared at him in surprise. "No," she answered, picking up her mug and turning on her tail, "I don't."

Chip watched with wide eyes as Alix swept out of the room. "What did I say?" he asked in a trembling voice, turning to his Mama. "Why doesn't Alix want to play with me?"

"It's not you she doesn't want to play with," Mrs. Potts answered, pressing a kiss to Chip's cheek. "It's Ger. Maybe you shouldn't talk so much about him around her, hmm?"

"But why not?" Chip protested. "It would be fun!"

"Chip," his mother said warningly. "If you don't want to upset her Grace, please don't mention the boy."

Chip pouted, but didn't press the matter. There was no arguing with his mother, or Alix, when either was in this kind of mood. Besides, as long as he didn't tell Alix about any more of his plans, he would be fine. He had never had a secret before, there had never been any reason to have one—there wasn't all that much trouble a teacup could get into in an enchanted castle where everything was alive. Now, though, his friendship with Ger could be a secret. All he had left to do, then, was to go and make friends with Gervaise Dupont.

Ger was sitting in the giant bath drawn before the fire, reveling in the feeling of warm water on his sore muscles. It had been a long time since he last ridden a horse for any amount of time, so the previous day's hell for leather gallop had not been easy on him. Adding to that the fact that he had not taken a hot bath since they had fled Paris, Ger could see himself happily soaking away for about a week. It wasn't as though he had anywhere to go.

That reminder of his imprisonment, however, took most of the fun out of his hot soak. It seemed a poor trade in the end—giving up a chance to return to University and his father for warm water.

"A lot of warm water," he reminded himself as he dunked under the water and scrubbed at his hair vigorously. "Warm water for the rest of my life, actually." He blew a few bubbles in the water before resurfacing, feeling a bit better about the circumstance.

"Wow..." said a voice from near Ger's left ear. "Can you teach me to do that?"

Ger jumped and accidentally sent a tidal wave of water onto the floor.

"That was fun!" chirped the voice, though it was now coming from the floor. Ger peered over the edge of the bath and found himself staring into the wide eyes of an excited looking teacup. "Hi!" it said, bouncing up and down. "My name's Chip!"

Ger blinked a few times, then tilted his head to the side and did the only thing he could do. "It's a pleasure to meet you," he responded, "My name is Ger."

"I know," answered the teacup. "Everyone's been talking about you!"

"Have they now?" Ger murmured, reaching down and scooping up the little cup in order to return him to his earlier perch on the rim of the tub and get a closer look. "What have they been saying?"

"I don't know," answered Chip, hanging his head. "They always shoo me out of the room before they keep talking."

Ger fought back a smile, though his sharp eyes were entirely occupied in analyzing the cup and trying to understand what it was he was seeing. "That is unfortunate. So you came to visit me instead?"

"I was hoping you would come and play with me," Chip said.

Ger was fast approaching his wit's end. He hated to give up on a logic puzzle, but he simply could not work out how someone could create a teacup that moved, spoke, seemed to think for itself and had no visible mechanism to work any of it. "This is impossible," he said to himself, tapping a fingernail lightly on Chip's rim to see if there was some hollowness inside that he was missing where the mechanism could be found. There wasn't.

"That tickles," said Chip with a giggle.

Ger was well and truly flummoxed at this point—the cup could respond in all the same ways as a human, even to touch. Such a thing was scientifically impossible...or at least improbable in the extreme.

"I must be missing something," he said, balancing Chip on his palm and raising an eyebrow.

"What are you missing?" responded the teacup. "Do you want me to help you look?"

"Then again," Ger continued, speaking more to himself than to Chip, "This is a castle run by an animal wearing a dress. What's one talking teacup, more or less?"

Chip stared at him in confusion. "Do you want to meet other talking teacups?"

Ger's jaw dropped. "There are more of you?"

"Uh huh! I'll introduce you to everyone in that kitchen." Chip leapt off the edge of Ger's hand and landed lightly on the floor before Ger even had a chance to cry out and tell him to be careful. "Come on!"

"I rather think I need to dry off and get dressed first," Ger said with a chuckle. He had never had all that much experience with children, but if all of them were this entertaining, he might consider getting to know a few...one day. Assuming that this propensity to say strange things was a habit of all young creatures and not just teacups.

Ger grabbed a towel off the nearest rack, which bowed politely to him and went to go get another towel, should he need it. Ger stared, openmouthed, at the retreating coat rack as it began to dawn on him that Chip was just the beginning.

The coat rack came back with another towel and set about drying Ger's hair. At the same time, a small and very helpful looking table trotted over with clothing for Ger piled atop it. Ger stared down at the heap of fine fabrics before him.

"Are these for me?" he wondered aloud. The table nodded its, for lack of a better term, head vigorously before offering the garments again. Shrugging, Ger picked up an outfit that was fit for a prince and wrinkled his nose at it.

"I can't wear this," he told the table. It looked back at him with a puzzled and hurt demeanor.

"It's an outfit fit for a prince, not a poor University student." The table kept staring at him. "Isn't there anything else? Something plainer?" The table, somehow, looked so depressed that Ger felt the need to reassure it that he liked the outfit it had picked out very much and that he would wear it one day. Just not today.

The table reluctantly seemed to agree and trundled off to find something else. It came back in a few moments with clothing that was, if not of coarser cloth, at least plainer that its previous selection. Ger shrugged into the fine linen shirt and breeches fairly easily, all the while wondering who they could have possibly belonged to. They fit him fairly well and, after the coat rack made some minor adjustments, Ger was ready to go. It seemed silly to dress up simply to be a prisoner in a castle, but the clothes were so comfortable that he was not entirely inclined to meditate on the absurdity of the situation and to simply take things as they came. He was a prisoner, true, but he was a comfortable and well-dressed prisoner with the run of a castle. In fact, he mused, he was probably better off here than in Molyneaux. There was no one like Genevieve around to annoy him, no farm chores with which to waste his time...if this place only had a library for him to continue his studies and room for his father, he could see himself being quite content.

He followed Chip down the stairs, allowing the young teacup to chatter on as he meditated on the fickleness of fortune. He had been so incredibly anxious to get his father out of the dank and gloomy dungeon that he had been willing to offer anything, even his own life, to rescue Maurice. It had not even occurred to him to try and fight the Beast; Maurice's safety was the only thing that he had been able to focus on. And it was a pity that Ger had not asked for his father to be kept around in the same conditions that he currently had for himself. That would have been ideal. Still, his father had never abhorred the village the way that Ger did. He might find it quite a pleasant place to be, now that Ger was gone and no longer causing trouble with the locals for wanting something more than a provincial life with a and provincial wife. He just hoped that his most recent encounter with Genevieve would not have too many repercussions for his father.

For himself, Ger thought with a fair amount of surprise, he could not have conceived of a better escape from Genevieve's clutches. There was no way she could reach him here and he would not have to face the rest of the town after having scorned her so publicly, an encounter that he now regretted and of which he was ashamed, though he knew himself well enough to admit that he probably could not have behaved any differently and she did deserve it. He had always prided himself in being able to remain above him surroundings and behave with grace and courtesy no matter what, but he had allowed himself to sink down to Genevieve's level, which was a truly low place to be.

"No more thoughts of Genevieve," he told himself, "She's going to be some other poor fool's problem soon and completely out of my hair." He grinned at that cheerful prospect and entered the kitchens right behind Chip.

"This is my Mama!" said Chip proudly, standing next to a very matronly looking teapot.

"Of course," Ger muttered to himself. "Who else would a teacup have for a mother?"

"Welcome to the castle, Monsieur," said the teapot, curtseying very politely to Ger, who simply accepted the fact that he was now in a place where fine china curtseyed. There did not seem to be much else to do. "I am Mrs. Potts."

"Gervaise Dupont," responded Ger with a bow. "I am pleased to make your acquaintance."

"I hope my son has not been bothering you," she said with a worried look in Chip's direction. "He means well, but he can be a tad excitable at times."

"Don't worry about that, Madame," Ger answered. "He was perfectly behaved the whole time and gave me a delightful tour of the parts of the castle between here and my suite. I am quite grateful to him."

"Oh," said Mrs. Potts, unable to hold back a flustered smile as Ger hit her with the full force of his charm. "Well, in that case, I'm glad he went up to visit you."

Ger smiled—he had used the same flattering tone on the cook in the kitchens at University and never once walked away without a few extra sweets and cakes. Aside from wanting to be a nice person, Ger knew full well the benefits of having the staff on his side and figured that, with a Beast as his competition, a little kindness could go a very long way in this place.

"I promised Ger that, if he came down with me, we could have some cake to have a picnic outside." Chip looked up at his mother with a pleading gaze and Ger followed suit. Helpless to resist, Mrs. Potts sent the two of them outside with enough cake to feed an army.

As they reached the door, they were stopped in their excursions by an excited footstool, who was yipping and was obviously desperate to be included in the excursion. After scratching it under its tassel, Ger told it to come along and resigned himself to having a day unlike any other he had ever experienced.

It had been a long time since he had played around as a child and Ger found that he missed the experience. With Chip directing, he played fetch with the footstool, whose name he was informed was Sultan, until both youth and furniture were exhausted. Then all three sprawled out on the ground and ate far too much cake. Ger chuckled quietly as he watched Chip and Sultan drift off to sleep, curled up around one another, obviously tired out by the day's excursions.

Ger was not the only one who was watching them, but the figure in the window was far from amused by the sight. Alix was staring out the windows of the library and felt as though she was about ready to scream.

"First he storms into my castle," she growled, "And accuses me of trying to kill his father; an accusation I damned well did not deserve since I meant to let the old fool free in a few hours and none the worse for wear, if only a bit more cautious. I should have torn Gervaise Dupont limb from limb for daring to disobey, but I didn't. I let him stay, give him one of the nicest rooms in the castle; I treat him like a guest and not a prisoner. So what does he do? He sets out to win my friends away from me!"

Friend, corrected her mind. You only have one, remember. And it's a five-year-old boy who has been turned into a teacup.

"Well, what does he matter, then," Alix muttered to herself. "I don't need any friends, especially not faithless children." And she tried to turn resolutely from the window, but her eyes were drawn back to the smile on Chip's face. He had never smiled with her like that. What did this foolish boy have that she did not?

While Alix pondered, fruitlessly, at the mystery that was human decency, Lumiere and Cogsworth were gathered in the kitchen to hear Mrs. Potts assessment of their guest.

"He was a darling," she said effusively, "Such a sweet boy."

Lumiere smiled, seeing through Ger's ploy to make friends with Mrs. Potts and highly approving of it. It bode well for the boy, if he was willing to be friendly and outgoing. He had already proved that he was not afraid of Her Grace, after the way he stood up to her the day before. The mistress was going to need all the help that she could get, if she was ever going to break the spell. And it was up to him and the rest of the servants to provide that help.

"It's a pity the Mistress is so intent on having nothing to do with him," Lumiere murmured.

"It is indeed," agreed Mrs. Potts. "Why, if only we could get them to speak somehow, I'm sure they'd be great friends in no..." She trailed off. "Lumiere, I believe you have a plan."

"I do indeed, Madame," he said with a smile. "And if you would all be willing to help me out, I believe we can implement the first phase tonight."

Mrs. Potts and Cogsworth were eager to hear what the maître'd had in mind. As he outlined his plot to them, Cogsworth found himself feeling hopeful despite himself. Maybe one of the wax-headed nincompoop's schemes might have some merit after all.

"We'll have to get to work straight-away," said Cogsworth, rubbing his hands together gleefully. "There is much to do and less time to do it in!"

He dashed off to speak to someone or other about something. Mrs. Potts caught Lumiere's eye and they shared a smile. "Poor dear hasn't had anything to plan in years," murmured the teapot. "I think this will be good for him."

"I think this will be good for us all," Lumiere answered. They set off in separate directions, more than ready to throw the first banquet that the Chateau du Lac had seen in over a decade.

_**T.B.C.**_

A/N – Hey, look! A Be Our Guest scene is coming up. Something tells me that Alix is not going to react well to anyone trying to plan her life other than herself. Oh, and just to make note, I was reading Robin McKinley's "Beauty" at some point while writing this chapter, so some of her style or characterization might have slipped in and become a part of my characters. It happens.

So, notes on the update. As usual, you can skip my authorial commentary, especially if you're expecting another show-stopping number. I try to keep those down to one per story.

Ger – Like Belle, he is more intrigued by the notion of the castle than anything else. I also see Ger up to be more of the city mouse than the country mouse, so it struck me as natural that he would be more comfortable with the castle than with the village. Ger has quite a few reasons to appreciate his stay in the castle and only one reason to want to return home. Granted, Maurice is quite a reason, but as far as Ger knows, his father is safe. Finally, Ger seems a lot less intimidated by Alix than Belle was of the Beast. Then again, he also knows that Alix never meant to kill his father, which is quite a mitigating factor. And he's roughly Alix's size, which probably helps, since it means he could try and take her in a fight. He'd fail and probably wouldn't try except as an absolute last resort, but Belle never could have done that or even thought to. This is all, by the way, an explanation of why the story seems to be derailing slightly. I did promise to tell a Beauty and the Beast story...I never told you how.

Chip – I like Chip. Quite a lot. Even before Shortstef started writing a fic about him, which made him even cooler, I found him to be a compelling figure. So he's going to get some pretty good billing here. Also, I think small children are adorable (yes, this is clearly a sign that I don't have any of my own) and they make wonderfully difficult characters. Small kids don't appear in adult literature that much, which is a shame, because they turn up in life fairly often. They also love to follow around their elders who they admire and I could definitely imagine Chip seeing Ger as the older brother he never had. Not to mention, if there are any other kids in the movie, we never meet them (other than Chip's "brothers and sisters," which I'm assuming is a figurative term for the other cups since I don't think Mrs. Potts was an early version of Nadya Suleman).

Alix – I don't think I need to explain Alix at this point, she's someone who spent years telling herself that she doesn't want or need anyone and is suddenly realizing that she has not necessarily been telling herself the truth. I'm going to try to parallel the Beast's redemptive trajectory with Alix, but there's no way I can have them do exactly the same thing. The Beast's whole redemption is first in his realization that he needs Belle and then that she might need him too. So he gets to save her and feel good about being a hero, which drives him to be a better person (because saving people creates endorphins, endorphins make you happy and happy people don't kill their husbands...right, where was I?) which, of course, makes Belle become even fonder of him, which made him like her because mutual reliance builds fondness and fondness builds love. Alix is currently refusing to admit that she needs Ger, so we're going to have to work on that.

The Servants – Lumiere seems to think that everything can be solved with food and a performance. We shall see. And, yes, after all these years Alix is still a bit inscrutable even to her servants. I think she likes it that way.

I...think that's it for the author ramblings. For all you readers, both new and old, thank you so much for reading and reviewing! I appreciate all your support and the more you have to say to me, the happier I am. You are all the best, have I mentioned that recently?

Damian


	10. A Fine Feast

**Chapter 10 – A Fine Feast**

There was a quiet tapping on the door of the library. Alix looked up from the book she had been reading and waited for the door to swing open.

The feather duster poked her head in and looked around for her mistress.

"What do you want?" Alix snapped, making Babette jump slightly and whirl around to face her.

"Your pardon, Mistress," said Babette contritely, "but I was sent to inform you that dinner will be served in an hour...provided that it convenient for you, of course."

Alix rolled her eyes and, for a moment, toyed with the idea of requesting that dinner be served at an entirely different time, but then dismissed the idea. Loathe though she was to admit that her needs were that easy to anticipate, she was beginning to feel the first signs of hunger and dinner in an hour would be perfect. "Why should I care?" she finally responded with a shrug.

Babette curtsied again and returned to Lumiere, who was in one of the dining halls, busily directing the tableware how to set itself.

"Mon amour," she said as she gently flicked a feather against his side to get his attention.

Lumiere allowed himself to be distracted for a moment or two. "What it is, ma cherie?"

"I spoke to her Grace," said Babette, still unsure how to broach this topic with her lover, since the last four times she had tried, he had not even noticed.

"Oh, is all to her satisfaction?"

"She has no objection to dinner being served at seven," answered Babette cautiously. "But she did not seem...overly enthusiastic either. Are you sure that this is the best way to bring Ger and the Mistress together?"

"Of course," answered Lumiere grandly. "Who _doesn't_ like a banquet?"

"Princess Alexandrina," Babette muttered under her breath. It was no use arguing with Lumiere, he still seemed convinced that a perfectly executed dinner would solve all the problems in the world. While it was true that many a foreign dignitary had, long ago, been won over by Lumiere's brilliant culinary choreography, Babette privately thought this situation was rather different.

She slipped out of the room, narrowly avoiding Cogsworth, who had gotten about as far into the spirit of things as he could and was examining every single napkin for the merest hint of a stain. The feather duster had never been more grateful that she did not, in fact, work with the dining staff.

Ger was awakened from his peaceful slumber under the tree by the tapping of an impatient teacup on his shoulder. Ger blinked a few times in the twilight of the garden, before trying to rise to his feet and realizing that, in retrospect, it might have been a better idea to get the numbness out of the limbs first.

Chip couldn't help but giggle as Ger toppled back over and swore a blue streak at his leg.

"Sorry," Ger muttered to Chip, though he was really apologizing to Mrs. Potts for having introduced her son to such appalling language. He stood up, properly this time, and placed the little teacup on his shoulder. "Shall we head in?"

"To do what?" Chip asked eagerly.

"Eat...or so I hope," answered Ger.

"But you just ate," Chip protested, remembering their picnic in the garden before they had fallen asleep.

"So?" Ger answered with a shrug. "There's always room and time for more food."

This was a philosophy that had never quite occurred to Chip before, as he was still far too young to develop the insatiable appetite of the adolescent male even if he'd needed food to survive now, a fact about which Ger was still not entirely clear.

So, with Sultan bounding cheerfully around Ger's legs, he set off for the castle and slipped in through the side door of the kitchen. He had been expecting to sneak a biscuit or five before heading back upstairs to innocently wait for dinner. The state of the kitchen, however, suggested that there was no way on God's green earth that he was even going to be able to set foot in the place, much less actually procure food.

Ger tried to find someone who could explain what was going on, since he could not imagine why such a ruckus was necessary in a castle where only two of its inhabitants actually needed to eat for sustenance. Finally, he gave up on trying to interrupt the bustle in the kitchen and slunk outside.

Ger had not yet learned quite how to walk in the castle and, as such, often found himself leaping aside at the last moment as he tried desperately not to trip over any of the servants. This time, it was Babette over whom he nearly toppled.

"Oh!" she exclaimed as Ger caught himself against the wall. "_Pardonnez moi_, Monsieur, I am so sorry!"

"Don't worry about it," Ger replied with a winning smile. "The fault was all mine. I should have been paying attention to where I was walking."

He really did have such an enchanting smile, Babette mused to herself. If only they could find a way to focus that smile in the direction of her mistress, they might have a chance.

Ger realized that fate had granted his wish for information after all and proceeded to ask the feather duster whether she knew anything of the commotion in the kitchen.

"_Oui_," she responded with a ladylike sniff. "They are preparing for tonight's banquet."

Ger blinked once or twice in confusion. He knew that the noble houses often treated every dinner as if it were a great dinner, but that seemed rather superfluous in a house that never had visitors. Also, it was not as though the servants would eat the leftovers, so what could possibly be the point of throwing the kitchen into such an uproar every night? Unless, of course, his very presence _was_ a special occasion.

"Do you usually have such a lavish dinner?" Ger asked carefully.

"Only when there is good reason, _monsieur_."

"Such as..." He dreaded to hear the answer.

Babette put on her most demure smile. "You."

Ger heart sank—he was right.

"Remind me to thank your mistress for this," he growled under his breath, displeased that he had not been given any notification that dinner would be so formal.

"_Pardon_?" Babette queried, having fallen victim to the usual problem that her speaker's mouth was far too far away from her ear.

"Nothing," Ger murmured. "Nothing at all. Shall I assume that I should dress?"

Babette wavered for a moment, knowing that the proper response was 'of course,' but knowing equally well that her mistress was just as likely to show up in a pair of breeches as anything else. "You should do as you please," she answered finally, that being the safest response, at least to her mind.

"Very well," was Ger's response, though his mind had already darted off on the subject of his attire. If his hostess had planned to put him in his place by making him feel like the country bumpkin at the grand feast, she was going to be in for quite a surprise.

He returned to his rooms and, remembering the outfit that he had point-blank refused to don earlier that day, wondered how exactly he was going to find it once again. He had not noticed where the little table had taken the clothing from earlier.

"I suppose my best bet would be to go and find the table," he mused, thinking of the helpful little servant that had brought him his garments earlier. "There is, of course, the minor problem that all tables look vaguely alike to the untrained eye," he continued, "And I don't quite feel comfortable addressing the air at large with the request that Monsieur le Table should make his way for-"

Ger was cut off abruptly as he felt a light tap against his leg. The aforementioned piece of furniture was gazing up at him with a hopeful expression on its surface. Ger's eyebrows rose and then he shrugged with acceptance. After all, why _not_ go along with such convenience?

To the table's delight, he dressed himself in the same suit of clothes that he had refused earlier in the day. Though Ger knew almost nothing about clothing, he found himself admiring the detailed silver embroidery on his waistcoat. It was, he noted, embroidered in the rocaille design that was now on its way out in the French courts, but had been all the rage a decade earlier. Ger swallowed as he noticed that the buttons were stamped with the fleur-de-lis pattern of the royal family.

"Well," he muttered as he waved away all help and did up the buttons himself, "What exactly where you expecting in a castle? The heraldic device of the poor scholars of France?"

Still, it was a rather blunt reminder that, whatever was going on around him, there was nobility involved somehow and he should be treading lightly. Ger grinned ruefully—that had not exactly been his forte recently.

The coat-rack snuck up behind him and deftly began knotting a neckcloth around his neck. Ger held still, remembering well how hard it was to tie one of those things around someone else, but the coat-rack seemed to have no problems with it, despite a lack of thumbs.

It then held up the coat and Ger shrugged into the fine satin garment. He felt like a prince, rather than student-turned-peasant. There were no mirrors around, however, so he made due with squinting at the window glass and hoping that his body would do credit to its attire.

The process of getting dressed had taken nearly an hour, so Ger left the room before his attendants had time to do more than tie his hair back in a simple queue. Knowing this castle, it would take him at least ten minutes before he would find the dining room. It took him fifteen.

Alix was still sitting in the library when the clock chimed the hour for seven.

"Your Grace," said a timid voice from behind her. Alix turned her head to see one of the crystal goblets peering around the library door. "Lumiere bid me tell you that dinner is served."

Alix rolled her eyes—she thought she had cured the maitre'd of his tendency to present every meal as a grand banquet. She had been eating simple meals of meat and bread for the past six years and those needed no grand introduction. He had probably decided that their new guest was a good reason to begin behaving like this was a proper castle.

Alix grinned maliciously; she would soon set him straight.

Ger slipped into the grand dining hall and his jaw dropped.

"You are impressed?" asked a voice at his elbow. Ger looked down to see a candelabrum standing on a rolling cart and gazing up at him with a satisfied expression.

"How could I not be?" Ger replied. "This is absolutely magnificent!"

The table in front of him was so long, he could barely see the full length of it. There were only two places set, but each setting was so elaborate, two people could have easily fit in the space it took up. Ger was filled with the sudden desire to reach out and run one finger over the nearest crystal goblet. It was in the shape of a rosebud just opened, and Ger marveled at the craftsmanship even as he noted the lack of verisimilitude on the stem. There were no thorns.

Though that seemed logical to Ger—after all, who would _want_ to stab their finger while drinking expensive wine—he found himself perversely disappointed nonetheless.

The rose goblet, as if noticing his interest, hopped gingerly forward and inclined its head towards him in a graceful bow. Its movement startled Ger, who had yet to break the habit of jumping in shock every time something impossible happened before his eyes.

"Umm, hello?" he said inquiringly to the crystal.

It chimed back at him, though apparently could not speak.

"Excuse me..," he said, turning to the candelabrum and trailing off as he realized that he did not know the light fixture's name or even if it had one.

"Lumiere," filled in the maitre'd smoothly. "Is everything to monsieur's satisfaction or is there something else that I can get monsieur?"

"Oh, no, everything is beautiful, but I was just wondering...why can't all of you speak?"

Lumiere stared dumbfounded at their overly curious guest. There was no way for him to answer that question without revealing too much information about the enchantment, which was entirely out of the question. If the young man _knew_ that he needed to fall in love with the Princess in order to break an enchantment, there was no way he could ever do so. Love, Lumiere thought firmly, simply did not work like that.

"Well, you see," he began, "It's very complicated and very dry and boring."

"You forget, Monsieur Lumiere, I am a philosopher at heart." Ger winked at him. "The drier and more boring, the better."

"Errm," Lumiere rejoined helplessly. "That is to say-"

"Lumiere! Lumiere!" cried Cogsworth as he burst into the room. "Something terrible has happened!"

"What is it?" Lumiere yelped, his heart in his throat.

"One of the napkins has torn itself on a knife!" Cogsworth gasped.

Lumiere rolled his eyes. "I'm sure that, with some quick surgery, we can put him right." And, with a wink towards Ger, Lumiere allowed himself to be led back into the kitchen to see to the wounded cloth.

Ger, who was puzzled by the candelabrum's cavalier attitude towards another being hurt, found himself wondering just how alive these objects really were. Chip and Lumiere seemed almost human, if a bit short. The panicking clock and the feather duster he had encountered earlier fell into the same category. On the other hand, the goblet appeared to be little more than a cup capable of self-controlled movement. Ger rather hoped this was the case; it would be extremely awkward to be sipping wine out of something's head. In that same vein, it would be nice if the cutlery fell into that category as well. Ger shuddered as he imagined what it might feel like to be lifted up, stabbed into a piece of meat and then placed inside someone's mouth.

Did they really qualify as alive? Ger wondered, idly tugging at his neckcloth. Nowhere in the philosophy he had studied was the question of non-human sentience addressed. It was, usually, taken as a given that anything non-human was not on the same level precisely because it did not possess such intellectual capabilities. Aristotle had posited such ideas over two thousand years earlier. Aristotle, however, had probably never encountered anything quite like this.

"I could begin a whole new field in philosophy," Ger joked. "The study of sentience in non-humans."

'And get thrown out of Academia for life, like your father?' retorted a nasty voice in his head. Ger shook his head and sighed. He knew that he would never tell anyone about his time here in the castle. If he ever got out.

Lumiere bustled into the kitchen after Cogsworth, only to note that a needle and thread had already started first aid on the napkin and that all would be fine.

"What were you thinking, dragging me in here?" Lumiere hissed. "Her Grace will be arriving any minute and I want everything to be perfect for their entrance."

Cogsworth sighed. "Yes, Lumiere. Which is why _you_ should be in here and I should be escorting Her Grace and our guest inside."

"Oh, no, _mon ami_, I am not letting you take the credit for this idea," Lumiere responded, squaring up in front of the clock.

"Take the credit?" Cogsworth sputtered. "I would never dream of stooping so low! I am simply trying to make sure that everything goes according to plan."

"Oui. And _the plan_ is for me to be directing outside from the start."

The argument went on for another five minutes before Mrs. Potts finally interrupted them. "If you don't stop arguing now," she scolded, "Dinner will be over before either of you decide who should begin it!" They both stopped, looked at each other in horror, and then sprinted off towards the doors of the banquet hall as fast as their legs could carry them. Which was not very fast at all.

Alix strolled down the hallway in a surprisingly good humor. She was composing her speech to Lumiere about how it was a waste of his time and energy to pretend that the Chateau du Lac was anything other than a prison and a pit of despair and that he had best get used to it and stop deluding himself with false hope. There was a bitter smile on her face as she thought through her words. After all, she had repeated them to herself often enough.

Ger heard her footsteps echoing down the hallway, giving him a little bit of time for him to compose himself. After all, it stood to reason that his jailor would have dressed for dinner as well and it was going to take effort not to laugh at the sight of a Beast in petticoats.

He found himself staring in bemusement at Alix as she rounded the corner dressed in a pair of old breeches and what appeared to be her usual simple shirt. What was she doing? Why would she go through all this effort to set him up and then not play along with the game?

Alix snorted with laughter as she noticed Ger in his fine clothes. He looked utterly ridiculous, standing there as if he expected dinner at this castle to be like, well, dinner in a castle. "What in heaven's name are you wearing?"

Ger's knuckles turned white as he clenched his fists and tried not to let his embarrassment show on his face. Had she set him up for this by speaking to the servants and having them trick him into thinking he was some sort of honored guest? He felt more like reviled entertainment. It seemed that his "hostess" was not content to simply keep him prisoner, she also seemed inclined towards playing pranks on him.

"Did you think that we would actually be having a proper dinner here?" Alix continued, blithely sweeping past her prisoner and going to open the door. "This is not exactly Versailles, you know."

She pushed open the door to the dining room, intending to walk straight through it on her way to the kitchen, where she usually ate. She was, of course, stopped in her tracks by the sight before her.

Unlike Ger, however, she was not impressed. Alix stared uncomprehendingly at the sight before her eyes, trying to understand why the room was set us for a grand banquet. It seemed as though someone had thought it a brilliant idea to throw her plight back in her face today.

"Whose cruel idea of a joke is this?" she growled to herself, before turning around to face Ger...Ger, who was impeccably dressed in the finest that the palace had to offer. Ger, who had spent the entire day cozying up to _her_ servants and turning them against her.

"How dare you?" she snarled at him, making him flinch and take a step back. "How dare you even stand before me? Aren't you afraid I'll rip you limb from limb for what you've just done?"

She reached out towards his throat and Ger found himself just waiting there, frozen.

'How does he know?' she thought to herself. 'How does he know that I won't do it? Any sane human being would run from a creature such as I, but he just stands there, waiting for me to back down. I can't even intimidate him away.'

Utterly defeated, Alix snarled one last time and spun away down the hall and towards the roof of the castle. Lumiere and Cogsworth arrived just in time to see Alix's tail disappear and she whipped around the corner.

Both objects turned worriedly towards Ger, who was as still as stone.

"Pardon me, Monsieur," said Lumiere, "But what happened?"

Ger stared down the empty corridor, trying to wrap his mind around what happened. "I don't know," he answered, shaking his head and not even knowing what to feel. "I just don't know."

_**T.B.C.**_

A/N – And we seem to be deviating away from the Disney story with every step we take. I'd apologize, but really, if you guys wanted the story verbatim you'd probably be watching the movie (again), no?

First off – I apologize for the long time in between updates. I have an excuse, though! Don't I always? No, seriously, this one is a good excuse. I got married!

That took up a lot more time than I anticipated. Not the ceremony, _that_ went by way too quickly. It was the planning that took several eras. Still, totally worth it!

Right, anyway, this is not about my life, it's about the characters.

Ger – Our darling hero is convinced that Alix is out to get him. That's kinda understandable, at least if you don't know her well, and after what she's done to his father, he isn't exactly prone to judging her as nicely as he could. Still, he's lucky to be alive, though he might not realize that yet.

Alix – Poor thing. Everyone thinks that he or she knows how to cheer her up and make everything better (including Alix herself). She's not as inscrutable as she pretends to be, just so off-putting that no one ever bothers...err...scrutinizing her. Which brings us to...

The objects – Yeah, this was not Lumiere's brightest move. He seems to think that as soon as a man is introduced, Alix will begin behaving like a normal girl and let herself be wined, dined and wooed. This might have worked slightly better if Babette had not warned Ger ahead of time and let him sneak off to get dressed – then they would have been on equally annoyed footing. Still, _que sera sera_ and they were trying. They might even prove useful later. Unfortunately for Lumiere, this means he gets no chance to perform Be Our Guest. Which is good, because I wasn't writing that out!

Umm, I believe that's everything. Updates might speed up, if I ever plow through this pile of Thank You notes threatening to drown me. As always, I don't promise that reviews will definitely make me write faster, but the more people I know want to read this, the guiltier I feel about not writing. (Ahh, guilt!). And the feedback really is important—I need the critiques, so please do so! Any review will do. Have I mentioned yet that I love all you readers? Nope, not this chapter.

Damian


	11. Acceptable Apologies

**Chapter 11 – Acceptable Apologies**

Lumiere and Cogsworth stood in the hallway, looking down at the passage no longer inhabited by their mistress. Ger was facing in that direction as well, though his eyes were so unfocused as to be practically unseeing.

"Well, now you've _really_ done it, Lumiere," snapped Cogsworth. "Just look at this mess!"

Lumiere turned on him. "Me? You are blaming me for this? What could I have possibly done wrong? In fact, _mon ami_, the only thing here that did not go according to plan was that I was kept back in the kitchens when her Grace arrived. I am sure that, had I been here, I would have smoothed over any small misunderstandings that had occurred."

"Are you insinuating that this is my fault?" Cogsworth gasped incredulously.

"No, I am saying so right out!"

Ger was lost in his own thoughts, trying to understand what had just happened, but he could not help but overhear the two servants bickering.

"Excuse me," he said, looking down a moment before the argument became a brawl. Both men froze and immediately leapt back to their previous positions as if they would never even dream of putting on such a display.

"I was wondering if you could clarify something for me," continued Ger pleasantly, amazed at how calm and genial he was about to sound a minute after facing down a beast. "You were responsible for planning the magnificent dinner inside, correct?'

"Yes," answered both objects, before glaring at one another again.

"And you didn't tell your mistress..?"

"No, we wanted it to be a surprise for her," answered Lumiere rather miserably.

_Well, you succeeded,_ thought Ger to himself. This put a whole new spin on the events of the evening. The Beast clearly had nothing to do with this plot—she had been content to let him roam her castle and leave him alone. Ger felt a bit guilty for his earlier assumptions that the Beast had been purposely trying to humiliate him. His father had always chided him for being too quick to think that everything was about him.

"Dare I ask _why_ you decided tonight, of all nights, to have such a feast?"

The two servants stared at each other in mute horror, wondering how exactly they were supposed to answer this question.

"Well-," began Cogsworth at the same time as Lumiere was saying "You see-"

"It's all very complicated and we can't get into it right now," they finished together in a rush.

Ger raised an eyebrow. "I see. You must have very important things to be doing, like seeing to the kitchens." Ger tried not to smile as both objects dashed back the way they came to explain that dinner might just be the littlest bit delayed,

As soon as they were gone, Ger left in the opposite direction. He had not seen where the Beast had gone, but he wanted to find her. Part of his brain was aware that this was a profoundly stupid thing to do. She was very clearly angry with him and had been moments away from killing him before she had left. And now he was going to go after her?

He was and, moreover, he was not even quite sure why. It just seemed like the right thing to do. Obviously, she thought that he was responsible for the debacle in the dining room and, while Ger personally found that ridiculous, he remembered his conversation with the feather duster from earlier when the object had all but told him that the feast was in his honor.

_Well, maybe if she were a bit kinder, then her servants would throw her feasts too,_ Ger thought snidely. He had to remind himself how disdainful the Beast had been when she saw him dressed up—clearly, she did not revel in such banquets and it was probably on her orders that they never happened.

Ger winced—that was the part that made him feel guilty inside. If the Beast's servants had simply managed to upset her on their own, he would not have really cared. But by an accident of fate, he had found out and immediately assumed that she was out to humiliate him. If he had just ignored the information he had gleaned, the Beast would never have blamed him for what had happened.

True, Ger wanted to clear his name and not stand accused of conspiring with the servants against the mistress, but that did not seem like good enough motivation to go off and risk his life. It would have to do for now, he decided, since probing any deeper might lead him to some uncomfortable conclusions. Like that he was going to see if he could comfort his gaoler.

The one thing Ger had forgotten was that he had no idea where said gaoler actually was. He blundered through hall after hall, opening door after door in order to stick his head in and discover that this one, like the last five, was empty. But Gervaise Dupont was stubborn as a mule, or so he had been told, and so he kept on in his quest.

Alix, for a change, was not curled up in her favorite chair in the library. She was sitting in the only remaining chair in the West Wing; a rather uncomfortable oak affair that had, so far, withstood everything she had thrown at it. She found herself tempted to put it to the test once again, but refrained herself. She had not broken anything in over two years, had prided herself on her ability to control her anger and despair. She thought that if she could conquer it, it would go away.

"Idiot," she snarled, running her paws along the gauge marks already made in the chair's armrests. She would not make new ones, but she found it calming to remind herself of her capacity to inflict destruction. "Of all the good-for-nothing sons who could have knocked on my door, I get the one _imbecile_ who does not know to back away from a Beast."

She had thought that, once Ger had been left in his room, he would stay away and leave her alone. After all, who in their right mind would purposely go after a monster who has made it very clear that she is unhappy with their presence?

"No one," she answered herself. Which suggested, rather forcefully, that he was not in his right mind. Alix wanted to feel fully justified in having unleashed her wrath on him; as he had spent the day stealing her friends away from her and humiliating her in front of her own servants.

To be perfectly honest, she did feel justified in doing so. It was just...she wished she had not. The fact that she still felt, well, anything was an emotional state that was untenable to her. She should not care if he stole her friend and she most certainly should not care that she showed up underdressed for dinner.

"Why won't it go away?" she moaned softly to herself. "Why does it still hurt?"

After exploring a decent portion of the castle, Ger found himself heading up yet another unfamiliar flight of stairs and encountering yet another dark corridor. This time, he accidentally stubbed his toe on an end table about halfway down.

"Sorry," he mumbled to it and was surprised when it made no response. Ger stopped his perambulations and went to examine it more closely. First, he prodded it gently with his other toe. There was still no response. He rapped sharply on its top and called out "Excuse me?" but was still met with a strange silence.

"I have reached the point in my existence when I am surprised that the furniture does _not_ respond to salutations," Ger murmured ruefully. Still, he could not help but wonder why this part of the castle was different from the others.

His natural curiosity got the better of him and, though he probably would have followed the hall anyway, simply to check and make sure the Beast was not at the end, he was practically cheerful, or at the very least distracted, at the prospect of a new mystery.

The corridor ended in front of a large set of mahogany doors. The knockers were in the shape of gargoyles, a motif that was rather popular in this castle. Ger wondered if the Beast had them put there, or if they predated her. Maybe there was even a long family line of Beasts who inhabited this strange place from time immemorial.

"Maybe your imagination is running away with itself," Ger chided his thoughts. He stepped through the door and peered into the gloom beyond.

He was in a suite of rooms that looked like it had not been cleaned, much less actually used, for at least a decade. The vast majority of the décor was made up of ragged curtains, overlaid with enough dust to cover an entire dirt track. There were any number of blank places on the walls where pictures had once hung and the battered remnants of frames were scattered all over the floor. Ger walked carefully through the gloom, doing his best to avoid both the broken furniture and the shattered glass that threatened him.

_I wonder if any of this was ever alive._ Ger shuddered at the sudden, horrific image his brain provided of Chip lying in a mess of shards on the floor. He hoped that these had all been plain wood, with no more feeling or soul than normal furnishings.

Ger brushed past a curtain and got a nose-ful of dust for his trouble. He sneezed explosively and, in that moment, the room's other occupant became aware of his presence.

Alix whirled around at the sound of the sneeze. "Who's there?" she shouted. Heads were going to roll for this intrusion, assuming that the object responsible had a discernable head.

Ger was struck dumb for a moment. From the moment he had stepped into the room, he had automatically assumed that it was deserted. Now, he realized rather belatedly that he probably should have knocked.

"I just came to apologize," Ger answered, stepping out from behind the once red curtain that had given him away.

And now it was Alix's turn to be speechless. This was fortunate for Ger since, had she been in less of a state of shock, the oak chair might have met its match against his thick skull.

"I thought that you were setting me up to be embarrassed," he continued, his tongue tripping slightly over the words as he tried to get them out before she recovered enough to cut him off. Now that he was facing her, the idea seemed even stupider than it had about thirty seconds earlier.

"I found out about the banquet by accident and assumed that it was on your orders, to watch the country bumpkin try and fumble his way through a castle dinner. So I decided to try and outwit you." Ger couldn't help but smile sheepishly. "I don't think I succeeded."

Alix was staring openly at him by now. The idea that Ger would have come all this way, into the one wing of the castle that was expressly forbidden to him, _and_ risk her wrath again after having faced it once already this evening just to make sure she knew that dinner wasn't his fault was too ludicrous to be believed.

"I just...you seemed upset," Ger finished lamely, realizing that his words were the understatement of the century. "And I'm sorry. I hadn't meant to upset you. Well...I guess I did at the time, but then I realized why you were upset and I felt bad and wanted to try and help and—I'm babbling, aren't I?"

Alix blinked her eyes. "You felt bad?" she repeated, trying to wrap her mind around the idea that her idiot prisoner was trying to make her feel better.

Ger nodded, looking even more sheepish than before.

"So...as part of this trying to help, you decide to follow a monster who nearly kills you into the West Wing; the _one_ place in the whole castle that the monster forbid you to go?"

"This is the West Wing?" Ger yelped. At the panicky look on his face, Alix buried her face in her hands. A few minutes ago, she had been furious at the boy. Now, it turns out that everything he had done to raise her formidable ire had not been his fault at all. God in Heaven, this man was impossible!

"I am sorry," he repeated, trying to sound even more contrite. "I'll go now."

"That would probably be best," Alix said quietly, turning away from him and walking slowly towards the open balcony.

Ger meant to leave, but he found himself distracted almost immediately by a curious object that had previously been blocked from his vision by the Beast's position.

He looked up at the Beast's back and, knowing that there was no way he would ever be allowed in these rooms ever again, he tiptoed forward and cautiously raised the dome of glass that was protecting a single, perfect rose.

_How is this possible?_ Ger wondered as he gazed at the pure beauty of the flower that floated about six inches above the table. He had expected the rose to have been secured to the glass and thus give the appearance of floating in midair. However, the simple expedient of lifting the cover and running his hand beneath the rose assured him that there was no visible means of support.

His hand rose to touch one of the shimmering petals, when a large and very heavy claw clamped down on his shoulder and he felt the talons just barely prick his skin through all his layers of clothing.

"And what?" said a deceptively calm voice, "Did you think you were doing?"

"I...um...got distracted?" Ger offered hopefully. "It's just, I've never seen anything capable of defying gravity before and I only wanted to see how it worked-"

"Magic," Alix snapped, her temper worn once again to the breaking point. "This is an enchanted castle, as you might have noticed. A place, I might add, where you clearly do not belong."

Alix was at the end of her rope as far as Ger was concerned. She was feeling more emotions with him in this castle than she had in the past seven years and she had had enough. He made her jealous and angry and bitter and, most of all, he made her realize just how painfully lonely she was. And she could not go on like this.

The rose was the last straw. Seeing him, inches away from the enchantress's legacy of bittersweet hope was just too much. She was overwhelmed by the emotions that had been roiling through her all day.

"Get out of here," she hissed, physically throwing Ger from her.

"I'm sorry," he repeated, not knowing what else to say. "I am leaving now, I promise."

"No," Alix responded, shaking with the effort of keeping control. "Get out of my castle."

"But, you said-"

"Your father was only going to be held for a night." Every word that she said came slowly and from between clenched teeth. "Why should your tenure here be any different?"

"But-"

"Feel free to leave."

"But-" Ger repeated and Alix finally lost her temper.

"Get! Out!" she roared, her voice loud enough to shake the windows in their panes. And this time, Ger ran.

As he took the stairs down, three at a time, he heard the sound of a wooden chair splintering as it hit stone.

He was at the door before he even realized it and accidentally bowled over the candelabrum and clock as he dashed to grab the handle.

"Where are you going?" Lumiere gasped as wisps of smoke rose from his suddenly extinguished head.

"Away," Ger answered as a solicitous coat rack reached him just in time and flung an ermine cloak around his shoulders. "I have to get out of here!"

"Oh, no wait!" Cogsworth pleaded, with Lumiere chiming in. "You can't-"

But the doors of the castle shut heavily on their pleas and Ger was already running to saddle Phillipa and obey.

The worst part of all this, he thought to himself as he sat shivering atop Phillipa and guiding her towards home, was that he didn't even want to leave. Sure, it would have been nice to have reassured his father that there was nothing wrong with him and he hadn't been eaten, but otherwise the castle was practically perfect in every way. There was no one to bother him, no one to mock him for being different. For Heaven's sake, he fit in better with a bunch of animate objects than he did with those villagers.

He tugged his cloak closer around him, wishing dearly that he was back in the castle with a hot bath and warm sheets. Of course, it was his own fault that he had been summarily evicted.

"That castle would have been perfect had it not been for the Beast," he groaned, but even that thought felt wrong. Yes, she had been very terrifying, but the only crime he could think of her committing was imprisoning his father and that seemed less terrible when he remembered that it was only for one night. In Paris, trespassing in a castle at night would get you shot.

"That doesn't make her good," Ger grumbled as his brain insisted on being logical. "Just...human, I suppose."

Which, as an assessment of the nature of a Beast, was very disconcerting indeed.

"I hate ethics, Phillipa." The mare snorted in agreement.

Ger sat back in the saddle and wondered how exactly he kept getting everything he wanted, but in the worst way possible. First he'd wanted to get away from Genevieve and ended up a prisoner. Then, as soon as he successfully escaped said prison, he realized that he would probably have been happier to remain incarcerated.

He concluded that Lady Fortune simply hated him, a line of reasoning that was even harder to argue with a moment later, when it dawned on him that he and Phillipa were hopelessly lost in the woods.

_**T.B.C.**_

A/N – I didn't realize how much time I spent planning stuff for that wedding until I no longer had to spend time doing so. This means, hopefully, more updates. At least until Graduate School begins. You should all be grateful though, that the economy is so bad and I'm not trying to get a job instead. Then I'd have no time for updates. As things stand now, I'm trying to be very overqualified for anything other than academia so that I can, well, go into academia.

Anyway, you're not reading this to find out about me (and some of you are not reading this at all) so let's get on to the analysis bit where I tell you what happened why.

Ger – Ger is a good person at heart, if a bit stupid sometimes. In this case, he realizes that he made a huge mistake about Alix and feels driven to fix that mistake and let her know that he wasn't trying to hurt her. Genevieve was a different story, since he had been provoked and his attack on her was most certainly deliberate. But deep down, Ger never really developed that utter loathing for Alix that Belle had for the Beast. She confuses him and he wants to think the worst of her, but he can't and now he doesn't know what to do. Of course, Ger's problem-solving technique consists of ignoring the person when he is in the right and confronting them when he is not. And Alix just does not understand the latter.

Alix – The poor girl has no idea how to handle Ger. She doesn't really understand the idea of people apologizing because they didn't mean to hurt her. People/objects generally apologized to her because they did not want to die or lose their jobs. She was positive Ger was hiding an ulterior motive somewhere...but she just can't find it. Most of her carefully built up defenses work because people care about not making her angry. That doesn't seem to bother Ger; he just ignores her. It's very hard to be cold and cutting to someone who is determined to ignore you harder and come out on top. So while this rivalry created the misunderstanding between them, it's also the basis for the crack in the armor. Alix and Ger are a bit too much alike; they just don't know it yet.

The objects – really don't appear in this. And for that I apologize. I'm sure they'll be back, but since this story is about the main characters, I find them more compelling (or is that the other way around?). In any event, I will try and fit them in where they fit, but this clearly was not that place.

By the way, was anyone else wondering if all that broken furniture in the West Wing was ever alive? Tune in later (I don't know when) for more questions that the movie didn't answer.

Thank you, all, for coming back after my prolonged absence and still reading and reviewing! As always, reviews and reviewers are wonderful and concrit is more than welcome.

Damian


	12. Escapes and Escapades

**Chapter 12 - Escapes and Escapades**

Alix stared at the rose in her hands. As soon as Ger had fled from the room, she had covered the rose once again and attempted to ignore it completely. That worked for about five seconds. The glass dome was resting on the floor as Alix slowly turned the rose around in her paw. It was as pure and as beautiful as the day she had first received it; drops of dew shimmering like diamonds on the silken petals. Alix resisted the urge to rip it to shreds. She always felt this way—torn between wanting to seal her fate forever and letting the little flicker of hope remain alive. Would it be crueler to doom herself now or to live through three years and six months more of this torture?

In her mind's eye, she remembered the look of curious reverence on Ger's face as he reached towards the rose. He didn't know what it meant to her, didn't know how very close he had come to shattering her. But seeing him with the rose, the emblem of her curse framing the face of the only available male she had seen in years...

Alix shook her head. Even if she would consider trying to break the curse, there was no way that she would let herself fall in love with Ger, of all people. He was just so...impossible! She never knew what he would do next. One minute he was stealing all her friends out from under her nose and the next he was invading the lair of the Beast simply to apologize.

"He must be insane," Alix repeated, her usual mantra when it came to Ger, but the words were half-hearted this time. By now, she'd had a little more time to watch him and think about him. He reminded her of the heroes in her favorite stories—the sort of men who are beloved wherever they go and always do the right thing. Somehow, they were so much less annoying when they stayed on the page.

Actually, she thought to herself, that's not really true. Some of those heroes were pretty annoying as well.

She put the rose back on it's pedestal, no longer even stopping to marvel at how the rose rested so easily in thin air. She covered it once again and turned away for good. Why was she still thinking about Ger? She had sent him away from the castle and was well rid of him. So why couldn't she get him out of her thoughts?

"Why did he come up here and apologize?" Alix murmured. She wanted to understand this boy, wanted to be able to pin down his motives, sort him into a little box and forget about him. If, however, he was going to remain an enigma, he was going to be running around her mind all day.

"Stupid boy," she growl. Stupid beast, she added in her mind, throwing herself onto the bed and sighing deeply. She reached out and her hand closed around the magic mirror before she even knew what she was looking for.

"No," she told herself firmly, "I am not going to look at him. I am going to look at something else. Show me the castle kitchens."

Lumiere and Cogsworth were engaged in a fighting match, which was not in itself a surprise. Alix raised an eyebrow, though, to see the rest of her staff taking sides; they usually had the sense to sit back and let those two butt heads without interference.

"-all your fault!" Cogsworth was saying. "If you had not planned your ridiculous banquet-"

Alix practically slammed the mirror down; the last thing she wanted to listen to was her servants arguing over whose fault it was that Ger had fled the castle. It was, she knew, easier for them to bicker about it amongst themselves then to blame her. Even though it was very clearly her own fault. If, though, she were to take sides, she would have to go with Cogsworth. The banquet had been a phenomenally stupid idea.

"They think they can manipulate me," she growled softly, but it was a poor attempt to get annoyed. After all, if she were in their position, what else would she be doing but trying anything she could to return to normal? They were only cursed by association.

She reached for the mirror once again, heedless of the rather notable point that this was the first time she had ever thought about her servant's opinion on the matter. It had never even occurred to her that they might object to serving a monster as enchanted objects for the rest of their lives. It had always been about her: her needs, her anger and her cold acceptance.

"Show me Ger," she told the mirror. He was at the forefront of her mind anyway; she might as well see his adventure and give herself some closure. By now, he should be back in his home, sitting with his demented father and thanking God that he was rescued from the horrors of the Beast's castle.

Her lip curled in a sneer at her own inner thoughts.

The fog in the mirror slowly cleared to reveal Ger, shivering as he sat astride his horse in the cold wet autumn night. Phillipa stamped her foot and snorted as they stood at a crossroads.

"I don't know either, girl," Ger responded to the horse. "Which way do _you_ want to go?"

Phillipa shook her head brusquely and turned towards the left-handed path. She trotted forward and Ger settled into her gait with a gracelessness that suggested he was not used to riding when he was this chilled and this uncomfortable.

"Show me the road to Ger's house," Alix commanded with a sinking sensation in the pit of her stomach.

Ger faded slowly out of her sight to be replaced with the image of a completely different track that she was convinced was found in an entirely different portion of the forest.

Alix shut her eyes and groaned, but she had one final question. "Show me how to get from the castle to Ger."

The image in the mirror wavered a few times before finally reforming to show the gates of castle. Alix watched in fascination as the mirror's gaze turned and focused on the small bridle path that lead East.

"I am going to regret this," Alix told herself as she grabbed her cloak and pinned it haphazardly about her neck. With the mirror still clutched in one hand, she was down the stairs and at the door before she even stopped to think about what she was doing.

When the first droplets of rain hit her in the face, however, she began to reconsider. It was easy to entertain ideas of going off and rescuing the idiot boy when she was ensconced in her nice, warm rooms. Out here in the rain, however, Alix was feeling decidedly annoyed and not only a little resentful. Why should she bother rescuing him? It's not as though he was in any real danger—he'd find his way out of the forest sooner or later and if it takes him a day longer to reach his home, so be it.

Of course, Alix reminded herself, it was _her_ fault that he had ridden out in the dead of night with no real knowledge of how to get home. Had it been during the day, he probably would have found his way and would have had a far more comfortable experience. But no, she had to throw him out in the middle of the night into the most godforsaken forest this side of Transylvania.

The wind whipped her cloak from her and she shivered as she clutched it close once again. Ger didn't deserve to be out on a hellish night like this. Neither do I, Alix thought ruefully, but here I am racing off to rescue a...knight in distress. Somehow, it seemed so much more romantic when the damsel was in distress and the knight had the shining armor. Not that she wanted Ger to ride up to the castle in gleaming silver plate armor, riding a purebred stallion to rescue her. She'd scare the horse away, for one thing. And for another, what knight would want to raise his visor and come face to face with her? They were supposed to slay the monster and marry the damsel, not marry the monster! It was a ludicrous scenario from start to finish, one that Alix had dismissed from her mind more times than she cared to count.

Alix knew full well that she was lapsing into self-pity again—it was, after all, one of her favorite pastimes. Still, her feet remained resolutely on the road towards Ger and she only halted when her path diverged and she had to ask the mirror for directions.

Ger had never been more miserable in his life than he was in those hours he spent wandering around the forest. Even after the rain stopped, the water still dripped off the trees and down his cloak. The garment was nearly soaked through and Ger was wondering whether he might not do a better job staying dry if he were to remove it.

Phillipa splashed through a puddle in the road and Ger groaned as the water dripped into his boots. They were getting nowhere and, worst of all, Ger could not even remember the way back to the castle. He had quite seriously considered turning around and begging the Beast to let him in, if only until the morning, but his odds of getting to the castle were no better than those of him reaching home. Or at least, that was how it seemed.

As they trudged through a particularly gloomy area of the woods, Ger heard the not-far-off-at-all howl of a wolf. Ger shuddered, but only began to truly panic when he heard the answering howl that came from the opposite side of the trail.

Unthinking, he pulled Phillipa to a halt and stared around. There was little he could see in the misty gloom of the forest and the shadows of trees and rocks seemed to loom out over him in a particularly threatening manner. He could not, however, see any wolves.

Maybe he was merely hallucinating the creatures.

Another howl broke the silence of the night and Phillipa pawed nervously at the ground. Ger shuddered as well—it sounded much closer this time.

"Oh God," he moaned, "What should I do?"

He sat in the saddle, fighting back the desire to scream and trying to remember everything he knew about wolves and how to fight them.

Phillipa had no such problems. As soon as the first wolf burst onto the trail, she dashed off down the path, running full out through the unlit tangle of branches that was the path through the woods. Ger had barely had to time to glimpse the silvery fur on the leader's pelt before the force of Phillipa's charge jarred him forward again. He clung to the pommel for dear life; the reins hanging down in front of him. Even if he could get up the courage to let go of the saddle, there was no way he could use the bridle to control his mare at this point. They rode fast and hard and Ger dared not glance behind to see whether they were being followed. They heard no howls as they ran, but Ger could only hope that that was because they were, in fact, falling behind and not that the entire pack was so close that howling was no longer even necessary.

His pell-mell dash for safety appeared to have worked, at least until Phillipa skidded to a halt in front of a large, fallen tree. Ger swore as he clung tightly to the saddle and tried not to pitch forward over the horse's neck. He succeeded, barely, and wheeled her around so that she was facing back towards the path they had so recently ridden down. The two of them waited there—panting with fear and exertion—to see whether the wolves would reappear.

Minutes as long as hours trickled by, but there were no signs of their pursuers. Ger desperately wanted to keep moving, but was even more desperate to survive the night and the large, fallen tree trunk that he and Phillipa had very nearly crashed into meant that the only direction available was that in which they had just come. If he was going to walk straight back into danger, he was going to make damn sure that he had done his part in making sure that the danger had passed.

After an eternity of fifteen minutes, Ger was about to move on when he heard the sound of paws pounding up the road towards him.

Phillipa heard them too and, rolling her eyes back in terror, she tried to fling Ger to the ground and bolt. He was having none of that and yanked sharply on the reins, using every ounce of strength in his body to keep her still. If she ran away, he had no chance at all. Her hooves were the most powerful weapon Ger had and, if worst came to worst, they could try and make a run for it through the wolf pack.

His eyes trained on the road, Ger saw their pursuer lope into view. It took him a moment or two to register that this was not a wolf pack at all, but an individual wearing a fur-lined cloak who, upon seeing its quarry in sight, immediately rose to its feet.

Ger stared, openmouthed, as Alix approached.

"What are you doing here?" he finally managed to stutter.

Alix looked him up and down critically. "Rescuing you," she finally answered, with a smug look on her face.

Ger did not know whether to be outraged or relieved.

"Come on, we're going back to the castle. I don't want to spend another minute out in this blasted forest."

Ger agreed wholeheartedly with that sentiment. "Do you know the way back?"

"I can find it," answered Alix, still smiling.

Ger was too tired, cold and disheartened to argue. He pointed Phillipa's nose in the right direction and set his mind to the daunting task of not falling asleep in the saddle.

As they traveled, Alix tried to think of what she could say to Ger. She had never been in the position of needing to make conversation before; she was usually too busy trying to disconcert people with a lack of it. Also, when Ger was around, he was usually putting in most of the effort, even if some of it was with a stammer.

Alix was saved from having to exert herself overmuch, however, when Ger began speaking. His voice was slightly slurred with exhaustion, but she was willing to forgive that.

"Did you hear something?"

"No," Alix replied, "At least, I don't think so. Why, did you?"

"I thought I heard a wolf howl." He was dragging his mind back towards consciousness, but it was slow going.

Alix pricked up her ears and listened closely to the ambient forest sounds. It was mere moments before she too heard the sound of the wolf's call.

"Let's hurry," she said, a cold chill running up her spine.

"By all means." Ger urged his horse onward and Alix kept pace with an ease that surprised even her.

They returned to the castle with no further incident, which Alix privately found to be a bit disappointing—this was her first real adventure, after all, and she wanted there to be something more to the story than the quest for a man on a wayward steed. Or perhaps a wayward man on a steed; she was still not sure which.

Ger, however, had had enough near misses for the night and was looking forward to a nice, hot bath and, if possible, copious amounts of hot tea.

Alix pushed open the door to the castle and slipped in, bringing several gallons of rain water in with her. She shook herself briskly, drenching everything and everyone in the area except for Ger, who was already soaked.

Lumiere relit himself with a resigned sigh and Cogsworth put the clock hands on his face to good use wiping water from his eyes.

"Welcome back, your Highness," Lumiere said. "Will you be requiring anything?"

"Two hot baths," Alix answered with a sigh. "One in my room and one in our guest's."

Ger snorted and Alix turned to face him. "Do you object?"

"Not at all," he answered. "I'll see you in the morning." He bowed as low as his aching limbs would let him and staggered up the stairs.

Alix watched him go and, once the boy was out of sight, began her own ascent in the opposite direction.

"Wait a moment," Ger called loudly as she was halfway up the stairs. She turned and saw him leaning over the railing on his side. "I just wanted to thank you," he said and Alix could see the grin on his tired face. "For saving my life, that is. I might have died without your help."

Alix stared, openmouthed at him. She had been the reason he was out in that storm in the first place and he was _thanking_ her? How could that be? What could she possibly say?

"Um, you're welcome," she finally managed to articulate. Ger saluted her solemnly, managing not to topple over from exhaustion only because his other hand was still holding tight to the banister, and then finally, _finally_ made it to his room and fell asleep in the bath.

_**T.B.C.**_

A/N – I apologize for how long this update took. And the reason I'm apologizing is because this one was not put aside while real life got in the way or because a different project came up, but simply because this bloody chapter would not write itself. Usually. I start writing and then the story takes over and good ideas flow and stuff happens and then I look up and six-or-seven pages in Word have gone by and the plot has been moved sufficiently forward that I can stop and take a look and post.

This time, I found myself dragging every gorram letter out one by one. I don't know why. Possibly because I just wrote a chapter in which nothing happened and yet everything that will happen turns on the fulcrum of what just didn't happen.

Also, my brain is slightly much at the moment (in case that last sentence didn't clue you in to that fact).

So, in deference to my own sanity, I don't think I will pick this chapter apart. There is one thing I should address, though.

Why didn't I have Alix rescue Ger? Well, there are two reasons. One was that I could not imagine Alix, the most nose-in-a-book and uninterested Beast around, having any idea _how_ to fight off a pack of wolves. Which leads me to reason two; I couldn't write it. Everything about it, from Alix not having the strength or will to jump in to Ger staying out of the fight even _if_ Alix went in and getting himself more chewed up than my labrador's favorite bone. It just didn't work.

So I found some other way. Which, I freely admit, is clumsy and a lot of lead-up to not very much at all happening (unless Ger gets hypothermia and dies), which is a bit more fair than if the movie did that. Also, and this should not be discounted, I hate writing battles. I like being in my characters' thoughts when I write and people should not be thinking during battles, other than "Oh God, Oh God, we're all gonna die," which is boring from a literary perspective. And I know little, if anything, about wolves. In the process of trying to learn _more_ than little if anything about wolves, I realized that neither did the script-writer or the director of Beauty and the Beast. Which actually helped matters tremendously; it meant I was in good company if and when I took artistic license.

If I keep this up, the author's note will be as long as the chapter (which, I'll grant, is not exactly a new phenomenon with me) so I will move on and stop making excuses. I don't like this chapter but it does what I need it to do so I can live with it...and please review and tell me what you think (good, bad, ugly). I appreciate it more than I can say and I'm grateful to each and every one of you!

Much love (and special cookies to anyone who catches the Firefly references in the author's note).

Damian


	13. Breakfast and Lunch of Champions

**Chapter 13**

_Breakfast (and Lunch) of Champions_

When the sun rose the next morning, all was still and silent in the Chateau du Lac. The inhabitants slept, having gone to their beds not two hours ago, and neither the pounding of the rain on the castle roof nor the occasional clap of thunder could stir those safely ensconced within its walls.

That is not to say that they slept peacefully. Though it is true that Ger, having awakened to find himself in a bath filled with rapidly cooling water, had forced himself to his feet and into his nightshirt and now slept like the dead, others were not so lucky.

Alix slept fitfully, the sheets entwined around her supine frame and tugging at her fur and tail as she tossed and turned in the grips of a nightmare.

She awoke from it with a start, sitting bolt upright in bed and nearly falling back down as an errant corner of woven sheet caught her arm. The dream itself was indistinct, slipping away into her unconsciousness and leaving only the chilling memory of shining yellow eyes and glittering white fangs.

This was the third time that Alix had been thrown from sleep with little to show for the experience but chattering teeth and the sense of a nightmare passing. She snarled angrily, punched her pillow down a few times and finally sank back down, her paws behind her tufted ears to cradle her head as she gazed up at the dim hangings on her four poster bed.

So much for sleep, she thought to herself. It seemed her mind was still primed for adventure and dashing about in battle, even if her body had had more than enough for one night and wanted nothing more than to be allowed to find oblivion in peace.

Yet the dreams were unnerving her—had she been less exhausted, she would have risen to find a book. Anything to keep from returning to that haunted wasteland.

Her eyes drifted closed of their own accord and she shifted to a more comfortable position. The panic of one nightmare receded, but the next one was lying in wait.

Alix was understandably irritable the next day. She finally rose at noon and stalked her way down to the palace kitchens in hopes of enough tea to drown in.

Ger was already sitting down there, tucking in a breakfast large enough to feed a small army. Alix took one look at the heaping plate of sausages in front of him and her own hunger hit in full force. Her stomach rumbled like a far away thunderstorm and her eyes took on an avaricious gleam.

Ger might have heard the former, but he most certainly noticed the latter. "Help yourself," he said with a wave of his fork.

A moment later, a fork and a place had settled themselves down across the table from Ger. Alix shrugged and accepted the invitation to sit at her own table. Irritated she might be, but she was too hungry to argue.

Three sausages and one bowl of porridge later, she was feeling more or less herself and much more disposed to be content with the world. Ger, at this point, had moved on to a plate of fried potatoes and showed no signs of stopping.

"What?" he said, looking up and noticing Alix's wide-eyed gaze.

"Where do you put it all?" she asked without thinking.

Ger shrugged. "My mother used to say that I had a bottomless pit instead of a stomach."

Alix snickered, before composing her face and pretending the laugh hadn't happened.

"It's alright," Ger said with another gesticulation of cutlery. "How are you feeling?"

Alix blinked at him once or twice. "What do you mean?"

"Well, we _were_ out in a rainstorm for several hours last night," Ger reminded her, trying not to sound overly patronizing. "I was wondering how you were recovering from the experience."

Alix blushed, a reaction that fortunately was invisible through her fur, and found her tongue in order to answer. "It was nothing," she said. "That is, nothing that a night's sleep in front of a fire did not cure."

Over seven years of avoiding any conversation outside of a book had clearly taken its toll on her ability to put together coherent sentences. She only hoped that Ger would not notice. Ger noticed, but he simply did not care.

"How are you feeling?" she finally remembered to respond. "You seemed rather..."

"Frozen?" Ger offered as he continued to plow through breakfast. "Tired? Generally disagreeable?"

"All of the above," Alix answered, glad that Ger seemed to have accepted the role of conversationalist for both of them, leaving her free to fumble as she wished. In ordinary circumstances, she would have taken her tea and left long before dialogue could even have begun, but these were nothing like normal circumstances.

"I was," Ger said cheerfully. "Hot bath, hot bed and hot food have taken care of most of the problems. I half expected to wake up with a raging head cold, but I seem to have been spared that indignity."

"Indeed."

Silence descended over the table, the awkward sort where both parties felt as though they should say something and yet neither could think of anything to say that was not either inane or embarrassing.

Alix settled for embarrassing. She took a deep breath. "I'm sorry."

"What?" Ger asked, fork poised halfway to his mouth.

"I'm sorry," she repeated, forcing the words out a second time, despite her instinct to clench her jaw and retreat.

Ger shook his head. "I heard you the first time. What are you sorry for?"

It had never even occurred to Alix that Ger would not know the answer. After all, he would have every right to storm around the castle and shout at her for throwing him out in the middle of the night into a pelting rainstorm. The few snatches that she remembered from her nightmare filled dreams were of Ger being torn apart by wolves, Ger dying of pneumonia, Ger falling of Phillipa and breaking his leg and unable to call for help. And, on top of it all, the gnawing, agonizing sensation that it was her fault he had been out in the storm in the first place.

"For sending you away last night," Alix answered in her low, monotonous voice. "I hadn't realized-"

"Oh, Ger interrupted, "That."

Yes, Alix thought sourly to herself, _that_.

"Don't worry about it. I was a fool as well, tearing off into the night without even stopping to get my bearings. You're not the only one who acts foolishly when angry."

There was a sudden silence in the kitchen.

Alix knew why. Before Ger's arrival, she would have threatened to dismember anyone who even intimated that she was a fool. Now, though, with the weight of guilt sitting heavy on her shoulders, she was practically grateful for it. It meant that she was not so different than everyone else.

"I suppose so," she said and the kitchen staff let out their breaths in a collective sigh of relief.

Ger noticed the sudden exhalation and Alix tensed, hoping he would let the moment pass. It dawned on Ger that he had been standing at the edge of a precipice. He snorted inwardly. He had always been warned that his unthinking tongue would get him into trouble one day. It seemed, though, that he was safe for the moment. She had taken his comment quite well, especially by her usual standards. He was not going to back down and cower, not before her. He was, however, going to make a move towards changing the subject.

"Huh," He murmured, casting around for something to say and remembering something that had intrigued the part of his brain not wondering about his survival. "I wonder if they need to breathe."

Aliz stared at Ger, who seemed to have addressed the question to the air at large.

"The animate objects," he clarified. "I can hear them breathing, but I've yet to meet any automaton that took in air like a living being. I'm almost positive they're not automata and yet some of them seem little more than clever clockwork devices." He looked up at Alix pleadingly. "Do you know how they work?"

Alix sighed. "Magic," she answered. "I told you last night that this was an enchanted castle."

Ger made a derisive noise.

"You don't believe me?" Alix asked incredulously. "How else could this castle even exist without magic?"

Ger shook his head. "It's not that I don't believe you," he said soothingly. "It's just that, throughout history, magic has always meant that we did not really understand why something happened, so we called it magic. That which used to seem magical to our ancestors has become scientific fact for us."

"Then why don't you put your scientific mind to figuring _them_ out." She gestured towards the objects, who shrank back from her.

"I'm a philosopher, not an engineer," Ger said. "I want to know why they exist, not how."

"If I told you that the answer was magic," Alix said, finding herself exasperated, but also intrigued.

"Any sufficiently analyzed magic is indistinguishable from science," Ger quoted. "I just wish I had the tools to analyze it."

Alix laughed at him. "You can't take the magic out of life just by looking at things."

"I'm not," Ger protested. "I'm just...replacing the magic of mystery with the magic of knowledge."

Alix narrowed her eyes and stared at him. About five seconds after the words have left his mouth, Ger seemed to actually listen to what he had just said.

"Oh, Lord," he groaned, "Might we pretend I expressed myself in a slightly more elegant manner?"

"Your point is taken," Alix said, graciously allowing the conversation to move on, "There is a magic in knowledge as well as in the unknown. Just because you know that the earth moves around the sun does not make the sunset any less beautiful." Alix was shocked to hear herself, as if all these half-formed thoughts she had stored in her head had finally found an outlet.

"Thinking of it as colors in the sky is one thing," Ger agreed, "But knowing how the world spins, knowing how intricate and wonderful it is just makes you appreciate the sunset even more."

Alix was looking sidelong at him. "Somehow, I am not surprised that you've studied the rudiments of astronomy."

"I confess," he answered, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly, "That I am a bit more surprised to find that you have."

She shrugged. "There was a book about it in the library. Several, actually, though I only read two of them before I found myself..."

"Losing interest or comprehension?" Ger asked shrewdly.

"A bit of both," she admitted.

"Sounds familiar," Ger said, half rising from his seat before he stopped himself and sat back down.

"What?" Alix asked in confusion.

"I was going to ask you to show me the way to the library, but you've not finished your meal yet."

"So?" Alix said rather sharply. "I can still give you directions, can I not?"

She only then realized that Ger, in his own, inimitable way, was trying to be polite. He should not have risen before her. It had been a very long time since anyone had shown her a noble's courtesy, even in a haphazard and belated form.

Ger was equally surprised that she had not noticed. His admittedly limited exposure to the nobility had given him the sense that a noble would rather die than forgo a courtesy that he was due. And yet...well, it was fair to say that the Beast was unlike anyone he had ever met before.

She rose to her feet as well. "On second thought, I believe I am done with breakfast. Will you do the honor of accompanying me to the library?"

Ger grinned at her. "Thank you, your Grace," he said, rising as well.

"Alix," she said as they left the room. "My name is Alix."

Mrs. Potts, who had been watching these proceedings with a gimlet eye from her position near the stove, was practically overjoyed. She had been hoping for a cease-fire, but this display of camaraderie was far more than she would have dared to pray for.

"I must go and tell the others." And so she did.

* * *

"To the library?" Cogsworth exclaimed. "She was bringing him to the library?"

Mrs. Potts nodded. "I saw it with my own eyes."

"This is precisely what we needed," Lumiere crowed. "Don't lose heart, mes amis, for I predict that we will be human again within a sennight."

"Not everyone can fall for a woman as quickly as you," Cogsworth muttered.

"And these things take time," Mrs. Potts reminded him. "They're building a strong foundation for love, but that is all that this is. A foundation."

"Well, then, we must start working on the house immediately," Lumiere replied. "What do you recommend?"

"Perhaps not a banquet tonight, mon amour," Babette said, but when Lumiere turned towards her in outrage, she merely batted her eyes at him and smiled sweetly.

"No, but there must be something," Lumiere said.

"The problem is," Cogsworth declaimed, "Is that the usual things that a man uses to win a woman will not work the other way round."

"Oh?" Babette said with a raised eyebrow. "And what exactly do you mean by that?"

"Well," Cogsworth blustered, "It's not as though she can provide him with flowers, chocolates, promises she doesn't intend to keep-"

"If that is how you usually woo a woman," Babette said with a sniff, "I am not surprised that there is no Madame Cogsworth."

"Well, then, ma cherie," said Lumiere, interposing himself between Babette and Cogsworth before the latter positively exploded. "Why don't you give her Grace some advice? You are, after all, a woman, non?"

"You, of all people, should know the answer to that one," said Babette with a smile, flicking a feather at Lumiere's nose.

"Lumiere, you can't possibly think that giving the mistress lessons in...in flirting would be a good idea?" sputtered Cogsworth

"I am not sure that the mistress wishes to be tutored," said Mrs. Potts. "And she does seem to be doing fairly well on her own."

"Very well," said Lumiere, "But if they are not madly in love by tomorrow evening, we shall begin to take steps." And he strode off like a general going to inspire a flagging army.

Mrs. Potts and Cogsworth shared a look before the latter hastened off after the maitre'd.

"What about you, Madame?" Babette said to Mrs. Potts. "Do you think that the mistress has a chance?"

"Love is a strange thing," Mrs. Potts answered with a half smile just turning up the corners of her mouth. "There is always a chance."

* * *

Alix hadn't spoken to Ger for at least twenty minutes. She had considered trying, once or twice, but she recognized the look of blissful absorption that lit Ger's face and she knew better than to waste her breath in trying to drag him away from his chosen corner of the library.

He had parked himself about eight feet away from her favorite section, right in the middle of the great works of philosophy. The last she had heard from him was a gleeful exclamation of the phrase "The Dialogs!" and then nothing but the occasional rustle of pages and mutter of concentration as Ger settled in to a rather uncomfortable looking position, with his head hanging off one arm of the chair and his left leg hooked over the right as they dangled over the chair's other arm.

Alix left him to it. This had not quite been her plan for what to do when she'd brought him to the library, if only because she had not, in fact, had any plan. She'd been running on instinct and it had gotten her this far.

Instead of picking up another well-thumbed and much beloved Arthurian romance, she set herself to the slightly daunting task of studying Ger.

He was a surprisingly hard person to read, for someone so straightforward and earnest. She kept looking for the trick, the depths beneath his surface optimism and kindness, the reason he was still here and still keeping company with the terrible monster who threatened his father and ruined his life. There must be something else, something she could not see.

Ger had gone from being a nuisance to a puzzle in the course of one night and Alix did not like that. Hating him had been easy. But after he'd apologized to her for being shouted at and thanked her for rescuing him from the trouble she had created in the first place, there was little left to hate.

If he had been malicious or conniving—but no. Ger was perfectly serious and that was what left her so unnerved. She could not find his hidden motives because he did not have any. As far as she could tell, what he wanted most in the world was to sit in this castle, in the company of a beast, and read a book written nearly two thousand years earlier.

God cursed man! She sighed and turned her face away from him. Thinking too much about Ger could make her head hurt. She should be adept at not thinking about things at this point.

"A book would help," she muttered and rose to her feet; grabbing one at random. She had been hoping that it was one of the ones she had already read, hoping for a familiar tale that she could fall into and lose herself.

"Paradise Lost," she read off the cover. It was not one she remembered reading before, but the title spoke to her. She opened the book.

It was like nothing she had ever read before. The structure of the verse was strange and the language took some time to get used to. She had learned English, but it had been a while since she had made use of it and she was a bit rusty. Still, the promise of story was compelling, even a biblical story that was half remembered. This Milton person had quite the way with words.

They read, together in their unwavering attention to their respective texts, but in wholly separate worlds in every other way, until Mrs. Potts knocked cautiously on the door and entered with afternoon tea.

She was loath to disturb them, but even more unwilling to let the tea go cold, so she cleared her voice and announced the presence of food.

Ger stomach rumbled in acknowledgement and he looked up from his pages with confusion, as if he wanted to ask the room at large where all that time had gone.

Alix, not having the benefit of a stomach constantly seeking nourishment, was even harder to dislodge from her book.

Ger, with his usual casual grace, peered over her shoulder and recognized the poem immediately.

"I hope you don't consider this light reading," he said nearly in her ear, making her jump out of the chair and turn on him, snarling. Ger took a good four steps backwards, palms outstretched in supplication.

Alix took a few deep breaths. "Sorry," she managed to grind out between clenched teeth. "You startled me."

"I noticed," Ger said wryly, retaking some of the ground he had lost with a deliberate step. "There's food, if you would like."

She sighed. "I suppose so. You distracted me and it is always harder to return to poetry than prose."

"Yes, and my mind always thinks in rhyme for several minutes even after I've put the book down," Ger agreed.

"You do that too?" Alix asked, surprised.

Ger nodded. "I found myself eating dinner in iambic pentameter once."

Alix laughed. "Truly?"

"I wished to have a piece of mutton roast, but all we had in our cupboard was toast," he recited.

Alix wrinkled up her nose. "Milton, it's not."

"Yes, well, that's why I chose to study philosophy and leave poetry to those more inclined to produce verse worth reading."

Alix chuckled and settled into a companionable conversation. She became so engrossed in sharing her thoughts with someone who could actually understand them and respond, she quite forgot to continue her character study of Ger.

He was not of the same mind. Several hours in a book might have made him forget that he was in the company of a dangerous and powerful creature, but that moment when he shook Alix out of her reverie had been more than sufficient a reminder. He was in danger here and would probably remain so.

Then again, it had only been two days and the Bea—that is, Alix had gone from being a terrible monster to an erudite albeit furry conversation partner. As long as he tread carefully around her, they should progress along fine. And as long as she did not remember that she had thrown him out of the castle.

As it happened, Alix had forgotten that minor detail, but was reminded of it almost as soon as lunch ended and Ger rose from his seat to go and spend some time with Phillipa.

"I don't want her to think that I've abandoned her," he said by way of explanation.

"You don't have to stay, you know," Alix said, her voice once again taking on that odd, flat quality that it seemed to adopt whenever she was saying something she felt as though she should, but to which she manifestly did not wish to give voice.

Ger turned and stared back at her. "I beg your pardon?" he said, feeling a sense of déjà vu.

"I told you last night that you were only to be kept prisoner for a day," Alix continued stiffly. "I am not going back on my word. Your life and days are your own."

Ger swept her a surprisingly elegant bow. "Thank you, Alix," he said softly. "Might I, then, remain under your roof as a guest?" He smiled guilelessly. "I do like it here and I have not even begun to take a proper look at the library."

Alix nodded, wordlessly. Ger bowed once again and took his leave of her. Alix sat back in the chair, claws raking lightly through familiar grooves as a strange little bubble of emotion floated weightlessly in her chest. She did not dare to examine it too closely, but was sure, at least fairly sure that it was something like joy.

_**T. B. C.**_

A/N – Oh, hey, look. I do exist. I have not gone into hibernation (but if the weather does not warm up any time soon, I might seriously consider it). I have merely been distracted by a long string of things known colloquially as "life". And Nanowrimo. Which was, in turn, distracted by life. Charming.

Anyway, thank you all, first off, for all the feedback on the previous chapter. I won't promise that I will do anything about it per se, but it's helpful to know (especially for something I was thinking about for later...moving on). That's the downside to a chapter-by-chapter internet publishing – it's a bit more difficult to go back and say "hmm, this didn't work, but it's a plot fulcrum and I've have to rewrite about thirty pages to make things look perfect".

I like the word fulcrum. It has a good sound to it.

The quote "Any sufficiently analyzed magic is indistinguishable from science" is said originally by Agatha Heterodyne from the comic series "Girl Genius." No, I don't know where Ger thinks he's quoting it from.

Well, Ger and Alix are slowly realizing that they have more in common than they'd thought—having only encountered and offended one another previously. The objects will, hopefully, not cause too much trouble, but the course of true love never doth run smooth. Ger and Alix will work themselves out sooner or later.

Now, of course, we've reached the "song montage" portion of the movie. I, on the other hand, have to tell you how they fell in like and then realized that like was becoming love.

Tune in next time and thank you all for reading! I appreciate all that you have to say, criticism and suggestions remain welcome and you are the best bunch of reviewers an author could ask for.

Cheers!


	14. Something Almost There

**Chapter 14**

_Something Almost There_

Alix was sitting in the library, feet tucked away under her tail, waiting for Ger to arrive. He had not exactly promised to be there, but they had been meeting up in the morning for breakfast and reading for over a week now and it seemed as though it had become a regular routine.

She drummed her fingers impatiently on the arm of the chair; she was hungry and wanted her breakfast.

Ger poked his head in the door. "I'm heading outside," he informed Alix, startling her as she took in his appearance and, a moment later, his words. He was dressed for cold weather with a long cloak and a ridiculous looking hat covering his ears.

"You're leaving?" Alix asked, quite unable to believe her eyes. Why would he be leaving all of a sudden? She had told him he was free to go, of course, but...well, he'd said he'd wanted to stay! Why was he leaving her?

"Of course not," Ger answered breezily. "But it's snowing outside!"

She stared at him blankly.

"You know, first snowfall of the year?" Ger prodded. "Don't you want to go out and see it?"

Understanding, if not full comprehension, dawned on Alix's face. "Oh, you're going outside...because it's snowing."

Ger nodded. "Will you come?"

"Go out in the wet and the cold on purpose?" Alix said incredulously. "No thank you."

Ger shrugged, a bit hurt. "Suit yourself," he said, closing the door and leaving with a bit more stomp in his step than he had arrived. It was silly to be angry at Alix for something as small as not wanting to come out and look at the snow with him, and he was not angry, not really. Just...disappointed, perhaps.

His predilection for snow came from an early age, when his mother had taken him outside, by the University, and taught him to catch snowflakes on his tongue and make snow angels on the lawns of grass outside the buildings. That had been many years ago, but Ger still smiled to think of it and he always went outside to catch at least one snowflake in her memory.

Alix sulked in her chair, then stood up and sulked while pacing the room for a bit of variety. She was trying to understand why someone would voluntarily subject himself to inclement weather and, quite frankly, could not figure it out.

Maybe there was something special about snow, she thought. It had been a long time since she had been outside in the snow. Not counting that almost-disastrous, midnight not-quite-rescue of Ger, it had been a long time since she had left the castle. Fall was rainy and depressing, winter was too cold, spring was rainy and unbearably cheerful and summer was so hot that she spent most of it lurking in the stone cellars underground where the temperature stayed the same year round.

She got to her feet and stalked upstairs to change into clothing more suitable for being outside. Her curiosity had gotten the better of her.

Alix did not have much in the way of a wardrobe; most her clothes consisted of breeches with a hole cut for her tail and long, coat-like things that were neither dress nor shirt, but something that looked like a compromise between both. She had a few dresses tailored to fit her monstrous form, but she tended not to wear them as they made her feel even more ridiculous, though, like all her tendencies, she made exceptions when they suited her. At least, when she was wearing fashions that did not exist anywhere else in the world and she did not have to worry about how absurd she looked as compared to other people.

She donned one of the heaviest coats and, grabbing a cloak for good measure, swung back down the stairs and out to the castle gardens where Ger was, to all eyes, lying down in the snow and looking practically blissful.

The snow had not been falling for very long, but it had been going at a good clip and the grass was already entirely covered with a very thin layer of white.

Alix stepped cautiously out onto the flagstones that made up the steps into the gardens and began garnering her own light dusting of powdery snow.

It was very different than rain, that was for sure. She barely even felt the snowflakes as they fell on her cloak and fur, except when they did odd things like land on her nose or get caught in her eyelashes. She blinked them away then, but was soon fascinated by the tiny little things that swirled around and caught on her fur like small, translucent, non-prickly burrs.

Ger didn't notice Alix at first, not until she was standing halfway down the steps and trying to examine the snowflakes before they melted, which they inevitably did after a few seconds contact with a warm body.

"They're all different!" she exclaimed and Ger looked up in surprise and pleasure as he realized that she had come out to join in his frolicking after all.

"Someone once told me," he said, rising to his feet and coming over, "That no two snowflakes are exactly the same. I used to try and catch as many as I could to check, but they always melted before I could see them properly and I could never remember what the last one looked like to compare it to the new ones. I finally gave up and just practiced catching them."

"Catching them?" Alix asked, holding out her paw and trying to get as many of the whirling, shifting flakes to land on it.

"Like this," Ger demonstrated, tilting his head back and opening his mouth so that his tongue hung out. Alix giggled as he caught a snowflake and ate it. "Now you try," he suggested.

Alix gave him a look, but shrugged and tilted her head back as she'd seen him do. It wasn't as easy as it had looked, but she had the advantage of a longer and more mobile tongue and, sooner rather than later, they found themselves competing to see who could catch the most snowflakes.

Given that it was a competition that did not lend itself to being judged, they decided to call it a draw. It was that or argue over how many snowflakes each of them probably caught every time they stuck out their respective tongues. As Ger said, if they spent long enough at it, they could probably figure out how to do the necessary calculations, but why would they want to when there was all this lovely snow to run around in?

Alix was not entirely sure if she agreed with this assessment of the snow as lovely, but she did allow that it was fascinating. For example, the way that you never seemed to feel it coming down, but could look up after ten minutes to find that it had soaked through every layer of clothing that you were wearing.

Ger's teeth were chattering at that point too, he had not been entirely sensible while getting dressed that morning, having been more interested in simply getting out into the snow than anything so irrelevant as being sure that he was dressed for it beyond cloak and hat.

"We should go back inside," Alix said, rubbing her hands together.

"B-but," Ger began, then stopped and shrugged ruefully. "I s-suppose you're r-right," he said, but then surprised Alix by toppling backwards in the snow and flinging his arms and legs out.

"It's a sn-snow angel!" he told her and got carefully to his feet so as not to destroy his...artwork. Alix snickered at him. Ger was just the type of person who would find angels in funny blobs of snow.

"If you say so," she said with a shrug. "I'm going inside, it's freezing."

Ger was not going to argue that point and he followed her in. They made a beeline for the library and soon found themselves divested of their wet cloaks by a helpful coat-rack and served with mugs of steaming tea by Mrs. Potts and her cavalcade of teacups. Ger was sprawled out in front of the fire, his chin propped up on his arms as he read through the book that lay open on the floor in front of him. The position did not look entirely comfortable, but Ger seemed content, as did the bear hearthrug he was lying on, which occasionally yawned and showed its teeth. Alix had dragged a couch out of its usual corner and had situated it right in front of the fire, which was currently doing an excellent job of drying their hair and, in conjunction with the tea, warming them up.

Lumiere, Cogsworth and Babette watched from a crack in the door—Mrs. Potts had assured them that she would tell them everything that happened, but Lumiere had declared that he simply could not wait and Cogsworth was not going to let that idiot of a candelabrum find out anything _first_, not if he could help it. By then, Babette figured that since no one else seemed to be doing anything of interest or of use, she might as well tag along.

They were, all things considered, a rather boring couple to watch. So much of their interactions were called across the room and relied on tone of voice and facial expression. And that was when they were at least talking to each other, not enveloped in the world of their own books.

They did manage conversations at dinner, when they resorted to discussing what they had read that day, or tastes in music, or Ger telling Alix about what he had been doing at University (which was usually a sign to bring out dessert, as there was only so long Alix could listen to a conversation she could not participate in).

But even though only two weeks had passed since that night in the woods that no one in the castle wanted to talk about—least of the all the two involved, now that all the necessary and unnecessary apologies had been made—it seemed to the objects that the conversations between the two grew longer and the mistress's smile grew wider when Ger walked into her library every morning.

It was true that Alix was happier to see Ger when he walked in, but not quite for the reasons that objects suspected, or wished to suspect. Alix sat in wait for the day when she would wake up and find that Ger had already left, had decided he had had enough of this prison and simply gone home. That morning with the first snowfall had been the only time that Ger had even been late for their morning breakfast-in-the-library, but Alix couldn't shake the feeling of precariousness that seemed to pervade her daily schedule.

Partially, it was just knowing that Ger could up and leave whenever he wanted. She often berated herself for having told him that he was free to go, even though she knew that she could not really have kept him here against her will and, to be brutally honest (which she hated being), she would not have wanted to. Because every morning that Ger walked back in to her library with that absurd smile that lit his face all the way up to his eyes was another day that he decided he was going to spend with her and not with anyone else.

Alix was growing dependent on that smile, on the arguments they had over whether tea was better with cream and sugar or with honey and lemon, on those long, rambling discussions over who was the best philosopher (she had finally caved in and began actually reading some of the shorter works by all the names that Ger mentioned, just as a form of self defense. But she still preferred her books.) and the even longer discussions over Spencer's attempt to create a mythology of Britain in _The Faerie Queene_, which was one of those books that they both agreed was only worth reading in order to argue about it later on. She was going to miss his presence when he left, miss the fact that everyone seemed in a better mood when he was around and the castle seemed almost cheerful.

Granted, it was easier for a place to feel cheerful when most of the objects in it were capable of expressing emotion and practically danced around as they went about their daily chores. Alix secretly appreciated the overwhelming display of merriment, even as she glared at the broom and mop that were so indecorous as to waltz around in public.

The good mood was catching, a fact that was especially notable during the second snowfall of the year, one week after the first. This was less of a snowfall and more of a blizzard and not even Ger would venture out in the whirlwind of white until it was over. Ger informed Alix that he wanted to explore the gardens while they were still "pure and untouched" in that voice that was not exactly a plea for her to join him, but more a promise that "no, really, it will be fun! You'll see."

She trusted him, for reasons she still didn't want to think about, and followed him out into the snow. Then he hit her in the face with a snowball.

Alix was so shocked, she just stood there with her mouth hanging open and her tongue lolling out. She made almost too tempting a target and Ger refused to consider the fact that maybe this was the time he had gone too far.

"Hurry up or I'll hit you again!" Ger called instead.

Alix snapped her mouth shut. "You realize this means war, don't you?"

Ger grinned at her from behind a tree and threw another snowball at her. She ducked just in time.

"I wouldn't have it any other way," he said, just before he was clipped over the ear by what he thought was a surprisingly well-aimed snowball as thrown by Alix. She grimaced—she had been aiming for his stomach.

Alix had not had nearly as much practice either making or throwing snowballs as Ger had, but her hands were larger and warmer and, though she found herself covered in Ger's missiles during the first half of the battle, she got her revenge later when his hands were too numb to properly form the snowballs and she was finally getting into the swing of things.

This is fun, she thought to herself, as Ger gave up entirely on the ball part and held up his hands.

"Mercy!" he called out, waving empty hands at her. "Mercy, mercy, you win!"

She laughed, absurdly pleased with herself, and dropped the half-made snowball she had been working on.

"It seems I'm no match for your artillery," Ger said ruefully.

"You made a strong showing in the beginning," Alix said condescendingly, "But you lacked staying power."

Ger turned bright red. "Not usually," he muttered, but Alix didn't catch what he'd said.

"Are you alright?" Alix asked after a moment, having had the oddest sensation that she'd said something wrong, but not quite sure what it was or how to correct it.

"I'm fine," Ger answered, "Just a little cold."

"Oh," Alix said, feeling stupid. She had told herself that she was grateful for having been turned into a beast many times (almost enough times to make herself believe it), but never for anything as simple as being able to stay warmer in cold weather. Without thinking, which seemed to be how most of what she did these days got done, Alix reached out and caught Ger's hands in her own. "Your are cold," she said, pointlessly stating the obvious.

"Yeah," Ger agreed.

She didn't let go of his hands, nor did he pull them away. They just sort of stood there, each one absolutely fascinated by their clasped hands.

"Well," Alix said, dropping his hands as if they had suddenly become hot coals. "We should go inside then."

"Yeah," Ger said again.

They went in, practicing the fine art of not looking at each other. Yet, by the time the cloaks were off and a hot lunch was being served—in the library, as always—Ger wasn't kneeling with his hands practically in the fire grate, as Alix had half expected him to be. He was sitting on her couch, close enough that they were eating off the same table, close enough that she could reach out and touch him.

She almost did, but held back at the last minute. What if he flinched away this time? she asked herself. She shuddered slightly at the thought, and tried to ignore it as it pushed further towards questions she didn't really want to answer.

Why did she care about what Ger thought?

Why did she want him to stay?

To hell with this, Alix thought savagely. I want him to stay because he makes me happy. Isn't that enough?

Maybe it was. Ger noticed the sudden change in her expression.

"Is anything wrong?" he asked solicitously, resting one of his hands atop hers.

She turned to him with a sudden, brilliant smile. "No," she answered, feeling almost as if she could fly. "No, everything is right."

_**T.B.C.**_

A/N – Right, so I was totally going to try and make this a longer chapter to make up for the fact that I haven't posted in 6 months. I'm not sure how that happened, although there was a metric frakton of Victorian novels to read that probably put a damper on anything resembling productivity.

And I'd promise more regular updates, since I seem to have stuck my nose back to the grindstone (I've written 9,000 words in the past two days – that NEVER happens. Unfortunately, about 6,000 of those words were part of a totally different story that is more a writing exercise in getting someone else's world out of my brain so that I can move beyond it and get back into one of my own...which, all things considered, seems to have worked).

There was something else I meant to...ah, yes. I want to apologize for the typos – they are unintentional and I try to catch them. I do self-edit before posting, but I don't have a beta reader, so I inevitably miss a few. I do occasionally go back and edit posted chapters when the mistakes are pointed out to me and I am reminded that a degree in English literature does not mean that anyone has ever bothered to check if I mastered communicating using the English language. An unfortunate oversight, but there you have it.

Anyway, thank you all so much for bearing with me, for coming back and for being such amazing readers. I love hearing from all of you and appreciate every single favorite, comment and perusal. You're all the best and hearing from you inevitably makes my week.

Damian


	15. The Princess is Giving a Ball

**Chapter 15**

_The Princess is Giving a Ball_

Winter was settling early on the small village of Molyneaux and its surrounding environs. By necessity, the inhabitants found themselves devoting less time to village gossip and more to the last minute adjustments of hearth and home that would protect them from what gave all evidence of becoming a particularly nasty winter. Had the snow not been coming down so thick and so fast, it was unlikely that Gervaise Dupont's disappearance and the extraordinary behavior leading up to it would have been forgotten so quickly. It had been three weeks since the boy was last seen, and his father had come tearing into the tavern, raving about a beast and a kidnapping. No one believed him, of course, but it was still puzzling that the boy had not reappeared. He was sometimes a topic of conversation down in the tavern, mostly because Genevieve was still discreetly inquiring about him, but most of the men had little time for an idiot who would run off this close to winter and who was probably rotting in the woods at this point. He'd seemed a fairly stable person, but then again, look at the father. They say that blood will out in cases like these and it only goes to show.

What it went to show, of course, was never discussed, but Genevieve was less and less pleased every time she held court and Ger refused to appear. Her usual coterie did their best to comfort her and remind her that he was simply not worth the effort because she had them, which would have worked better as a reminder had any of them compared favorably to Ger. Genevieve was getting impatient and, though she had sent Laliene to loiter around by the Dupont's cottage, there was little to report. Ger was, as far as Laliene could tell, really gone. And Maurice, while clearly not right in the head, showed no signs of keeping his son hidden anywhere in the house. It was Maurice's behavior that decided matters for Genevieve. Laliene, lurking faithfully outside the cottage each night, would come back and report to Genevieve that the mad old man would pace around the room, pulling out papers and rucksacks, muttering to himself and shaking his head. More often then not, he would pack one of them up and sit at the table, staring at it and his hat as if they held the answers that he sought.

This was all Genevieve's extrapolation from the exceedingly dry narrative that Laliene told her. She was hoping this was an indication that the man would be heading off into the woods one of these nights. If she was going to have him incarcerated on the grounds of mental instability, as she and Monseiur D'Arque had agreed was the best course, he had to really seem mad. And, given the weather, running off in the middle of winter should certainly qualify.

And who was to say that he wasn't? After all, his son _had_ run off. But he would be back, Genevieve was sure of that. Ger wasn't the type to just get lost in the woods like that, he probably had a very good reason for remaining away. For example, that the village lads might have murdered him for the week after he so stupidly rejected Genevieve.

But if that was the case, Ger should have reappeared by now. It was irresponsible of him to remain missing with winter nearly here. Genevieve was biding her time until the opportunity arose to force his hand. She had been reluctant to do so at first, but, in retrospect, this way was probably better. For one thing, it let her sink even further away from the proceedings so that, when she offered her support to Ger in his time of need, it would seem even more honest and less contrived. Ger was intelligent, she shouldn't underestimate his ability to think. But the plan, as it stood now, was at the top of her thinking capacity and far above anyone else's puny mind.

Laliene came flying into the tavern, her lank, dirty blond hair in disarray around her head and her brown frock smudged with dirt. She skidded to a halt in front of the impeccably dressed and coiffed Genevieve.

"He's gone!" she said excitedly, then lowered her voice as Genevieve made frantic shushing motions. "He just left."

"Perfect," Genevieve said with a flash of gleaming white teeth. She caught the eye of a thin, sallow faced man who drank alone in the corner and nodded, just once. She rose majestically to her feet. "Excuse me, gentlemen," she announced, her eyes taking them all in, "I believe I have a slight headache and will be retiring early. I bid you all goodnight."

She swept into the door at the back of the tavern that led up the stairs to where she and her father actually lived. Grabbing a cloak, she slipped out the back door and was circling around to the front of the tavern when the thin and sallow man walked out the door.

"Mademoiselle Avenant," he said, taking her hand and kissing it. Genevieve repressed a shudder of revulsion. Monsieur D'Arque, with his olive complexion and beaked nose reminded her of a particularly unpleasant vulture and the cold touch of his talon-like fingers did nothing to dispel that notion.

"Shall we go?' she asked, taking her hand back. "I do not wish the old man to slip through our fingers."

"He won't get very far," said D'Arque with a yellow rictus of a grin. He led Genevieve a little away from the tavern, where two men were sitting and dicing inside the bolted wagon that the Maison Des Lunes used to transport their victims. The bolt was undone, but Genevieve wondered how they were comfortable even sitting in there.

"On your feet," D'Arque snarled at the men, who were up in flash and had the dice tucked away in record time. "We have a madman to apprehend."

"Oh? You mean that idiot inventor finally snapped?" one of them asked.

"Indeed," said D'Arque. "He set off into the woods alone, at night, in search of his son. We fear his mind has completely gone and he may even need to be restrained to keep him from any more fruitless journeys."

The men laughed and it was decidedly not a nice laugh. Genevieve shivered.

"Which way did he go?" one of the asked.

"Down the path towards Clermont Ferraud," piped up Laliene, who had been trailing Genevieve and D'Arque in the hope that she might be able to help Genevieve even more.

Genevieve let out a breath of air she hadn't even known she was holding in. She felt nervous and out of place among these men, a feeling she barely wished to admit to, much less show. She knew how to handle men, she always had. After all, she had manipulated Monsieur D'Arque to wait, night after night, in the tavern for signs that Maurice would become easy prey. These men, however, were not like her boys—her stupid, sheeplike boys that she'd left at the tavern. She could not have brought them with her, and yet she wished that they were here, by her side. Not for protection, she was Genevieve Avenant and did not need protection, but as accessories, the way she would wear a particularly fetching gown or brooch. She felt exposed before these men, despite the heavy weight of her cloak, and she did not like that. It made her straighten up further and sneer, even as she took a step back so that she could reach out and grab Laliene's hand. Not that she would show such a weakness, but part of her just wanted all the reassurance that she could have.

"Hurry up," D'Arque snapped to the men, who were moving with alacrity and did not need his words.

"Will you join me?" he asked, and Genevieve swallowed and forced herself not to back away from his frightening, sunken face.

"No, thank you," she said in her haughtiest tones. "I hardly think that hunting a lunatic is the proper place for a lady!"

He looked her up and down in a way that made her blood run chilled. "And you are a proper lady, are you not?" She could hear all the insinuations he was not making—that proper ladies did not meet with asylum keepers in the middle of the night and arrange for the kidnapping of mad old men.

"I am indeed," she answered. "When you have caught the poor man, come back through the village and I shall pay you the remainder of what I owe."

D'Arque smiled, showing all his crooked teeth. "I look forward to it."

He took his seat next to the driver and the wagon rumbled off, moving slowly, but still faster than a man could walk.

"I don't like him," Laliene said, making a face.

"Me neither," answered Genevieve, "But he is a pawn in our game and we shall be rid of him soon."

They returned to the tavern, where Genevieve announced that she'd had a change of heart and would remain among them for a little while longer despite her slight headache. She was applauded, albeit quietly, and her boys kept themselves busy making sure she had tea and cakes and a pillow for her head and feet. Genevieve smiled at this display of proper male deference to her august personage. Monsieur D'Arque was forgotten, even as Laliene found herself posted at the window to keep her eyes open for when the asylum would return with his newest inmate.

* * *

Ger and the mirror were in the process of having a disagreement. It was not a particularly severe disagreement, all things considered, as the mirror did not have a mouth and could not answer back, but it was making its displeasure known in other ways, ever since Ger had informed it (and the closet, and the end table) that he was not, under any circumstances going to be wearing a gold justaucorps. Ever.

Ger had noticed that the castle's inhabitants tended to be about ten years behind the times when it came to fashion, which was not usually a problem unless one was visiting Paris, where wearing last year's waistcoat was more of a scandal than keeping last year's mistress. And Ger had not even been dressing for dinner these days, which was formal only insofar as it was the only meal they seemed to eat in a dining room, rather than underfoot in the kitchens, or in the library. Ger did not dress like a peasant, but like a very absent-minded nobleman who never bothered tying his cravat and kept his sleeves rolled up more often than not. Except when they were outside, at which point he would actually bother to put a coat on.

They, of course, meant him and Alix. It was odd, that something so simple as calling her by her own name and not "Beast" could make such a difference in their interactions. Not that Ger was going to lay all the blame on nomenclature, but it was just so much easier to be friendly with someone who had a name. It was hard to disassociate "Beast" from "angry monster who shouts a lot" (which, some mornings, could describe Ger just as easily as it could Alix), but Alix was...Alix. Short-tempered, self-conscious, incredibly vulnerable, surprisingly brilliant and sometimes even more surprisingly sweet Alix. It was the vulnerability that really struck at Ger and touched him in a way he had not expected. She tried to keep it hidden, that much was obvious, but little things about her gave it away, like how she always looked a bit surprised and incredibly pleased when he came in to the library each morning. Ger was not usually the most observant of people, but he had discovered, at first, that being able to read the Beast's motives might be valuable and then had gotten in the habit of using that knowledge to try and keep Alix happy.

Tonight's festivities may or may not have been the product of that impulse, Ger could not exactly tell. Ger was the one who had brought up the subject of dancing, mostly as it related to the theory that it is a scholar's duty to be as pleasant in society as he was exacting in his pursuit of knowledge. Ger, personally, disagreed with that view, being of the opinion that it was better to excel at one thing than to be passably good at many.

"So," Alix said, having listened past Ger's vehement objections to what she had a feeling he was actually saying underneath, "Does that mean you cannot dance?"

"I can," Ger said stiffly, "If I choose to."

"And how often do you choose to?" she asked, her face hidden behind the book she was reading, but Ger could swear that she was grinning ever so slightly.

"Whenever it suits me," he answered again, which was not an answer at all.

"I see," Alix said, and went back to reading.

Ger felt as though he had not gotten the better of that argument. He found himself losing more of them as Alix became more comfortable around him. He didn't notice each gradual change in her demeanor as she slowly melted from icy anger to a cool appraisal and, by now, something quite close to warmth. All he really knew was that, some time in the last three weeks, they had begun to treat each other like friends.

It had taken Alix most of the past three weeks, even after their games on the lawn and their conversations at dinner, to learn how to be friendly with Ger. Ger was the sort of person who teased and bantered with his friends, something Alix had never found an opportunity to do, although she had read about it in books. It took her a while to figure out how to reciprocate, especially when it came to the way he would tease her. She had always been good at finding what to mock in others; it has been one of her favorite pastimes as a spiteful young girl. The first few times that she had tried this teasing thing, she heard echoes of that bitter, angry little girl and winced.

But she'd gotten much better at it, now. The difference, as far as she could tell, was that you had to like the person you were teasing first. Then their faults suddenly did not seem quite so bad and you no longer sought for the best way to hurt them, but to make them laugh with you at their own little follies. It took effort, on her part, to think of the witty repartee, but she was decidedly pleased when she succeeded at it. This, she felt, was one of those times. She _did_ like being good at things, after all.

"You don't believe me," Ger said after a few minutes.

"Hmm?" Alix said, looking up from her book.

"About dancing." Ger fixed her with a mock glare. "You don't believe that I can."

"I've never seen you dance," Alix answered primly, while inside she was gloating. "So I wouldn't presume to pass judgment."

"So you're saying that if you could see me dance, you would believe me?"

"Perhaps," she answered, laying down her book. "It would certainly give me grounds to judge for myself. And you are the one who is always insisting that one must question all assumptions and be...what was that term? Imp...something-or-other?"

"Empirical," Ger provided. "So, you require empirical proof that I can dance? And you would consider a demonstration of my abilities to qualify?"

Alix couldn't help but smile. "I suppose I would."

"Very well," he said and reached forward.

"What are you doing?" Alix yelped as he grabbed her hand and pulled her to her feet.

"Dancing," he answered. "You didn't expect me to dance alone, did you?"

I didn't expect you to dance with _me_! Alix thought, her face heating up in a blush that no one could see. She didn't know whether to be outraged or thrilled at first, but she soon settled on a third option of which she had been previous unaware—highly amused.

Ger was, indeed, an awful dancer.

"No, no, you're doing it all wrong," she told him, pulling away and trying not giggle.

Ger glared at her. "Oh, and you're the expert?"

"Actually," she said, smoothing down the front of her coat nervously, "I am. I studied dancing when I was younger." The words slipped out before Alix could register that she had let her guard so far down as to actually be speaking about her past.

Ger was so startled, he almost forgot to be angry. "Really?"

"Yes," she answered. Well, studied was a strong term. She'd had dancing lessons as a young princess and had enjoyed them. That was back before she'd stopped enjoying everything. It had been a long time since she'd danced, Alix thought wistfully. She wondered if she dared try again.

Oh, why not, she thought. It wasn't as though she could be worse than Ger.

"Would you like me to teach you?" she offered, a note of diffidence in her tone that Ger found intriguing enough to want to pursue further.

He thought about it for a moment, then shrugged. "I don't know if you can," he said, acknowledging for a moment just how bad he knew he was, "But I see no harm in allowing you to try."

"How generous of you," Alix said, curtseying to him. "Here is your first lesson."

Ger waited expectantly, assuming she was going to start by telling him the best place to put his feet so he didn't step on hers. He realized, all of a sudden, that Alix was barefoot and would be doubly upset if he tread on her toes. He had completely forgotten that she never wore shoes because of what might be termed obvious reasons.

He was still wondering how he was going to avoid bruising her feet when she coughed pointedly to get his attention.

"Sorry," he said, hanging his head, "I wasn't paying attention." He looked up piteously at Alix, who couldn't help herself and began to laugh.

"Funny," Ger said, laughing as well, "That always used to work when I was about ten."

"As I was saying," Alix said, "My dancing instructor used to say that it's not possible to dance without the proper atmosphere. That even the most rank beginner," like you, she added in her mind, "improves immeasurably when he is suddenly surrounded by the accoutrements of the dance."

Alix was started at how quickly all of this seemed to return to her. She'd barely even thought about those lessons for years, but now she could practically hear Monseiur Chorégraphie's voice in her ear, drilling her on the patterns of the dance. Most of those lessons had been spent memorizing the steps of the contre-danses that were so beloved by the Queen, though the dancing master believed in teaching every aspect of the art and so also devoted a few lessons to some of the other dances of the times, such as the Waltz. He had meant to cover waltzing in more detail, as it showed signs of becoming popular in Paris, but Alix had stopped appearing for her lessons around then and so he never had the chance.

This was unfortunate, as the Waltz was really the only dance that two people could perform alone. At least the steps were simple.

"And those necessary accoutrements are?" Ger asked.

"A gown to wear, a ballroom to dance in, musicians to play and a handsome man for a partner."

"What about for me?"

"I'd imagine it's much the same. Formalwear, ballroom, musicians and..." Alix trailed off.

"A lovely partner?" Ger finished for her and then wished that he hadn't. He took her hand and didn't say anything.

Alix was grateful for that. Had he even tried to pretend that she was lovely, she would have taken her claws and torn them across his handsome face. But he just stood there, holding her hand and waiting.

"If it's all the same," he said softly, "I'd rather dance with you."

Those had probably been the injudicious words that had sealed his fate for the night. Somehow, he found himself agreeing to meet Alix for a ball, just for the two of them. It was worth agreeing just to see the look of ecstasy on the maitre'd's face when Lumiere realized he would be planning a ball again. It was doubly worth agreeing in order to see the look on Cogsworth's face when he realized he would be throwing a ball in six hours. Both Alix and Ger had fled upstairs, in case the clock decided to press them into service as well.

Which was how Ger found himself arguing the niceties of clothing with his furniture. Ger understood that the objects just wanted him to look his best. Ger wanted himself to look his best as well; he just had a different definition of what his best was. After much pointing and sulking, on everyone's part, and a bit of injudicious roaring on Ger's, he convinced them that a deep green, velvet coat with a matching ivory waistcoat suited him best. It helped his cause that the coat had gold trim and gold buttons so he was not totally ignoring the need for ostentation. He did sit down and allow the end table to tie his cravat as it wished and found himself with a style that seemed so complicated, he doubted he would ever be able to remove it. Perhaps it was called the Gordian knot.

Ger stood and looked himself over from head to toe. He looked...distinguished. Noble, even. Alright, so the cuffs on the sleeves were a bit large and the cut of the coat was a bit old fashioned, but Ger would let that slide. He still found his appearance to be dashing.

Then the closet produced the wig.

"No," said Ger flatly. "Absolutely not. Not under any circumstances."

And yet, the closet blatantly disregarded his demands and placed the wig firmly on his head. It was one of the large, horrible, monstrosities that looked like it was made of sausage shaped clouds and the demented dreams of a mad hairdresser.

Ger snatched it off. "I said no. And if you try to put that thing on me, I will not go downstairs and you will have to explain to your mistress where I am and why I am late."

They cowered at that. Personally, Ger thought Alix would probably enjoy the prospect of having to come up and rescue him from the world's ugliest wig, but he was not going to tell the objects that. Let them worry.

Ger tied his hair back in its usual queue with a gold ribbon. "Much better," he told the mirror, which did not agree.

Ger turned at the knock on the door and, as soon as his back was to the closet, it snatched up the wig and settled it on Ger's head with a "so there!" expression.

Lumiere, who had been all set to invite Ger down to the largest of the small sitting rooms for hors d'oeuvres, could not contain his mirth and nearly managed to extinguish himself with hysterics.

"Oh, Monsieur Ger," he wheezed, "You look so...so..."

"Stupid," Ger suggested archly.

"Oui," Lumiere agreed. "Manteau, take that ridiculous thing off his head. We want the mistress to smile at him, not laugh uproariously."

Slowly, and with obvious displeasure, the closet removed the offending (and offensive) article and stowed it back in its depths. "Poor Manteau," Lumiere said, shaking his head, "He never could keep up with the changes in fashion."

Ger fixed his hair and submitted to Lumiere's quick but thorough once-over.

"You are the pinnacle of elegance, monsieur," said Lumiere. "Now, might I escort you to your lady?"

Ger nodded and walked after the candelabrum, feeling oddly nervous and hoping that he was going to make a good impression on Alix.

Alix had no such hopes regarding herself. "Look at me," she snarled at Madame de le Grande Bouche, Mrs. Potts and anyone else in hearing range, "I'm hideous. I should never have even tried."

She was almost tempted to rip off the pale, periwinkle dress that had been specially designed to emphasize the feminine form of a decidedly bestial body. And it did so beautifully. Sometimes, even Alix was truly stunned at what the enchantments on the castle managed to produce. From her chest down, she was gorgeous, wearing a gown fit for a princess, the kind of gown she'd wanted to one day grow up and wear; with layers of fine petticoats twinkling out from beneath the skirt, gold embroidery that covered the satin bodice and long sleeves that remained close-fitted to the elbow and then belled out around her paws. She could almost hide them in there. The dress came up higher than was fashionable, but Alix wished that it came all the way up to her throat. She wished she could dress like the mythical women in the Arabian Nights, who wore scarves and veils so that no inch of their bodies could be seen. She wished she had not been so stupid as to suggest this night's entertainment. She had not been thinking.

Well, no, that was not strictly true. She _had_ been thinking, but it had been about Ger. And look at where that got her.

Chip, who had been shooed out of the room while Alix was being dressed, heard her shouting and, like all inquisitive teacups would have done, stuck his head back in the room.

Alix was sitting on the floor, her skirts fanned out around her and her head in her hands. Chip was more startled by her attire than anything else. He was so used to her ordinary clothes that it took him a while to adjust to the fact that this was still the same Alix.

"Ooh," he said, hopping around to get a better look. "You look pretty!"

Alix's head shot up and she stared at Chip. "Why were you crying?" he asked, coming over to perch in her hand, "Don't you want to look pretty?"

Alix laughed one of those wet, sniffly laughs that were all she could manage after her tears. "I do want to look pretty," she answered.

Chip wrinkled his nose. There was something very confusing about all of this.

"Do you really think I look pretty?" Alix asked Chip, rising to her feet. Chip squinted at her, then at the mirror, then back at her.

"You need a crown," he said finally, "Cuz you're a princess."

Alix turned around and heard the clatter of wooden feet as something went off to fetch the locked box in whom here jewels were kept. Chip might be right, but she still did not relish the idea of looking in the mirror.

The jewel box appeared and respectfully opened itself for her. She looked down at its offerings and, very carefully, took out her mother's sapphire necklace.

"I like that one!" Chip said excitedly.

"So do I," Alix said, fingering the jewels and watching as they glittered in the candlelit room. She used to dream about the day when she'd be grown up enough to wear this necklace. Her mother had promised her she could wear it for her first ball (not including the one she had sneaked down to when she was six). Well, Alix thought, biting her lip, this is my first ball.

She closed the necklace around her neck and was relieved to see that it fit. At any rate, it fit better than it had the last time she had tried it on and it had hung down to her navel.

She ignored the earrings, which were not made for floppy, velvety ears, and the bracelets and rings, neither of which she thought could possibly fit on her misshapen hands. That only left a crown.

There were several tiaras stored in the bottom of the box. They should have been on display, but Alix would probably have destroyed them if they had been out. She lifted out the diamond encrusted one that she had not been allowed to touch when she was younger. She was still a little intimidated by it and set it aside. It had never been her favorite anyway.

Then there was her father's favorite, the one he had always asked her mother to wear. Her mother had laughed, but she'd always agreed. It was a simple design, compared to the ornate curlicues and stones the size of her thumb that decorated the first one, but its beauty lay in its simplicity. Or so her father always said. It was so strange how she could avoid thinking about her father for years, but at the mere memory of him, she could almost hear his warm, deep voice again and watch as he gently placed the tiara atop her mother's light brown hair.

It was wrought of warm, gleaming gold, with nothing more complicated than a repeating pattern of cresting waves set with white diamonds. Atop each crest was a pale, blue diamond that she knew symbolized the ocean. It had set off her mother's understated elegance perfectly.

Alix only hoped it would lend her some degree of dignity as well. She needed all the help she could get.

She set the tiara on her head. "Well, what do you think?" she asked the room at large, facing deliberately away from the mirror.

The room was silent until, finally, Chip answered. "It's really shiny!" he said appreciatively.

The silence and tension broken, the other objects began to chime in, but Alix wasn't really listening anymore. The gown and crown were working their own special magic. She _felt_ like a princess again. She twirled, once, in the dress, just to watch it swirl out around her. So long as she did not need to see her ugly paws and brown fur, she could pretend that they were not there. They were a glimpse of part of her life that she'd thought was lost a long time ago. Ger had rekindled her ability to hope, but this reminded her of what she was hoping for. Alix was determined to have a wonderful night.

"Can I come to the ball too?" Chip begged his mother. He'd been prevented from spending as much time as he would have liked with Alix and Ger recently, having been told that they needed time alone, even thought no one would tell him why. But to have to miss the ball too?

"Of course he can," answered Alix breezily—she had not been breezy in a long time, but the dress did strange things to one's head—, heading towards the door without a single backwards glance at the mirror (who was a bit miffed about being sobbed at and then ignored, but was inclined to be understanding about it). "And if you come, I promise to save you a dance."

Chip giggled delightedly and Alix, bolstered by his exuberance, smiled a little as well as she met Cogsworth by the stairs and he escorted her down to the room where Ger waited.

_**T.B.C.**_

A/N - Hey, remember that long chapter I said last chapter was going to be? I think I found what I did with it!

I suppose I could have tacked the Genevieve scene on to the last chapter, but it just fit better here.

So, out of curiosity, is anyone else really creeped out by Monsieur D'Arque in the movie? I mean, I assume you're supposed to be, but still. He makes me shudder.

Also, and this just came up while I was plotting the ballroom scene, is there any reason given that Belle and the Beast decide to go and have an formal dinner and dance one night? In either the movie or the play? As far as I could tell, it seems to be part of the intricate plot between the objects and possibly the Beast to create a romantic atmosphere to speed along the romance as the rose wilts. Is that it, or am I missing something?

Questions, comments, (what the hell is a justaucorps? Why did they wear those wigs anyway? Was this entire scene an excuse to use the "you look so...stupid" line? [yeah, kinda]) etc. will all be cheerfully answered in the reviews.

Damian (she who cannot remember her own nicknames)


	16. I Could Have Danced All Night

**Chapter 16**

_I Could Have Danced All Night_

Ger could not remember if it was acceptable to start on the canapés before his hostess arrived, but, having missed lunch, he found that he was pretty much ravenous. And they looked delicious. He hoped Alix was not planning on taking much more time or else he might just nick a few and hope she did not walk in while he was in mid-bite.

He had just resolved himself to sneaking one when the doors swung open and Cogsworth, radiating importance, announced, "Her Ro-" before Lumiere swooped down and shoved one of his candles over his mouth.

"Err," said Cogsworth, "That is, may I present the Lady Alexandrina." Lumiere glowered, even as Cogsworth looked a bit sheepish at having gotten carried away by the pomp and circumstance.

Ger, miraculously, ignored the small scuffle going on at his feet. That was not to say that he did not register it—he was not the sort to let information like _that_ simply slip by—but all his attention was focused on Alix, standing nervously in the doorway and playing with a gold and ivory fan who seemed resigned to the incessant folding and unfolding.

Ger's jaw did not drop. It might have, had it been three weeks earlier and he'd been confronted with this sight one day after meeting "the horrible Beast." But now, Alix just looked...right. Oh, she also looked a bit terrified and as though she expected him to run screaming, but there was something about her dress, her carriage, and her poise that made Ger think that he was seeing more of who she was than he ever had.

And she was beautiful.

Ger was staring, a bit, as he met her at the doorway and caught her hands. They stilled immediately and he raised one, brushing his lips gently across the back. Her hands were almost impossibly soft and silky.

"So," he said, stepping back and surveying her, "Alexandrina?"

"It's a bit of a mouthful," she said, almost apologetically.

"I'll save it for special occasions, then," Ger answered. "You look...I mean...Alix, you're lovely."

She looked at him, her eyes betraying both hope and pain, searching his face for signs of what he really meant. This was Ger, she reminded herself, the man incapable of saying anything _other_ than what he meant.

"Thank you," she said, finally, looking down at the dress. "I have no idea how the castle found something that fit."

"I have no idea why the castle has a powdered wig made to fit my head," Ger replied. "Maybe it really is enchanted."

"You're willing to concede on that front now?" Alix said.

"I never concede anything," Ger responded, nose in the air. "I would, however, be amenable to a cease-fire until after I've had something to eat."

And that was it. They set to the platter of canapés with a vengeance. The nice thing about doing this with just one other person, Ger mused, was that you could compare each delicacy as you ate it and not worry about having to fight off all the other students, an appalling number of whom would take half a trayful and stuff them inside their gowns to have for later. He discovered that Alix had a fondness for smoked ham and that, despite all of his youthful misgivings, he rather liked tomatoes.

Lumiere, having informed Cogsworth that, as maitre'd, he was going to announce dinner, showed them both into the dining hall. The large dining hall. They sat at opposite ends of the table and shouted conversation across at one another. This was not unusual behavior, except that the shouting was the result of the distance rather than the conversation topic. The serving platters were nearly worn out, running from one end of the table to the other to make sure that both Ger and Alix had all the food they could eat and more. Although, as Ger pointed out, at least the platters themselves were mobile and did not require someone to fetch them for you every time you wanted more of the vol-au-vents.

Dinner was comparatively short, although Ger and Alix did put a sizeable dent in the massive amounts of food. Ger wondered what would happen to the rest of it. Maybe he should invite some of his old fellow students; they could live off this kind of bounty for weeks.

Alix rose to her feet and Ger followed suit. "Shall we?" he asked, going all the way around the table to offer her his arm.

She took it and smiled at him. "Of course. I want to see you dance again."

They walked, arm in arm, into the grand ballroom. Ger had never seen this room before (it held neither books nor food, and so usually had no interest for him), but it was truly magnificent, even by the standards of the rest of the castle.

Alix was pleased as she watched Ger take in the grandeur of the room. She had never cared for it much—it was a lonely place for one person to be, especially one person who already felt very much alone. And having the servants around never quite helped assuage that loneliness. Oh, she had always been aware of their presence, but she had never allowed them to fill her life in any meaningful way. It was strange, what a difference having one more person made. Just Ger's mere existence, the simple fact that he held her arm in his own and stood by her side made the room seem so much warmer and friendlier.

"Alright," said Ger. "May I have this dance?"

Alix smiled. "That depends on what you do with it." She turned to face him and he reached out to take her in his arms.

"Not so tightly," she told him, breathing a bit quickly herself, "I'm not going to run away. Let yourself go a little, Ger. Relax. It's just a dance."

Just a dance was an understatement, Ger thought. It might be "just" a dance to Alix, but for him it was a chance to prove himself to her. He was not quite sure why he wanted to, but he knew he badly wanted to see her smile again and give her a chance to be pleased at him.

It was not just a dance to Alix either, and those words rung hollow in her ears.

"Are you ready, Your Grace?" Lumiere called from where the palace orchestra, made up of musicians who were now their own favorite instruments, waited excitedly for a chance to exercise their strings.

"Ger?" Alix said.

He gulped. "As my Lady commands."

Alix nodded her head in queenly fashion and the musicians struck up a waltz.

The first half an hour of the dance was not precisely disastrous, but it left Ger questioning the wisdom of the entire endeavor and Alix wondering how quickly any of the objects could invent shoes that fit her feet.

"Maybe we should take a break," said Ger, eyeing her as she surreptitiously rubbed one foot against her calf.

"Only if you want to stop," Alix answered. She was willing to try and hammer this into Ger's head so long as he was, even if it left her lame for the rest of her life.

"I don't want you to get hurt," Ger said apologetically.

"Then stop stepping on my feet!" Alix snapped. "You're a genius, Ger, and you can do anything that you put your mind to, or so you claim. So stop telling yourself that you're a horrible dancer and start dancing!"

She was breathing heavily and glaring at him. She had not meant to say that, but she was so used to losing her temper whenever she wanted to that she could not help herself. Stupid, stupid Beast!

Ger, for the first time, was not scared. When she had roared at him to leave her alone, for example, he had been terrified. But for this? Ger couldn't help himself and laughed.

"Yes, your Grace," he finally managed to gasp out. "Your wish is my command."

Alix was so taken up in mentally berating her idiot mouth that she almost missed Ger's reaction. She had been readying herself to apologize—something she could do with more ease than before, but which still took a lot of personal strength, even over something as foolish as this—when she heard what Ger had actually said and saw him standing there, merriment overwhelming him, and waiting for her to take his outstretched hand, which only trembled a little.

"Then I wish you to learn to dance," she said, grabbing his hand.

And this time, it worked. Ger was not sure whether it was that he actually followed her advice and believed he could dance, or whether he was so buoyant and happy that he completely forgot to step on her feet, but it was working. They finally fell into the proper rhythm and let the music sweep them away across the dance floor.

The objects watched from their own corners of the room. Lumiere and Cogsworth had stepped away from the orchestra (it was impressive just how loud a bunch of strings could get) and were watching their waltzing mistress with gleams in their respective eyes.

"Splendid," Cogsworth said, his voice lowered to a whisper, just in case anyone could hear them above the music. "A quite brilliant plan."

"Why yes, it is a brilliant plan," Lumiere agreed, his chest puffing out with pride.

"Indeed," Babette said, "What a pity that neither of you thought of it and that the mistress and Monsieur Ger came up with it all on their own."

"Well, yes of course," said Cogsworth. "But I put it together. Look at this ballroom! It was in shambles this morning and now-"

"Now it would not matter, for I doubt that the mistress has eyes for anything but the man in her arms. Have you not seen how she looks at him?" Babette smiled complacently.

"She's in love, then?" Lumiere found himself asking excitedly.

"Shame on you, mon chere, if you do not recognize the expression on the face of a woman in love," said Babette with a playful tap of a feather against his nose.

"You may be right about the mistress," said Mrs. Potts softly, "But I don't know if she knows it yet. She has spent so long hiding from her own feelings, she may not even recognize them now that they have caught up."

"But does that signify?" Cogsworth asked. "The stipulations were that she needed to fall in love, not to recognize that she was?"

They all shared worried glances

"Mes amis, we are getting ahead of ourselves," said Babette. "Remember, it has been merely three weeks since Monsieur Ger has arrived and, look, already they are dancing. The mistress is but eighteen years old."

"True, but do you not wish to be human again?" Lumiere asked impatiently.

"Of course I do," she answered and they shared a smoldering glance of which Cogswoth highly disapproved, "But another month or two will not spell the end of the world. They are doing quite well."

"Indeed they are," Mrs. Potts agreed. "He had not tread on her foot in at least ten minutes."

That was not the precise definition of success, but it was a working one.

Monsieur Choregraphie believed that dancing, like its sister arts of music and poetry and painting, was the act of using human endeavor to transport the dancer far beyond the world of the ordinary. Dancing was not about looking graceful or impressing nobility or being proficient at the same thing that everyone else was, though it did have elements of each of those. It was about creating something beautiful.

The dancing master had never said this to his young student. It was clear to him that, though she had clever feet and, for a time, the desire to learn, she would never amount to more than a good dancer. She was certainly capable of reaching the level of proficiency needed to make the right impression on society's dance floor, but she would never dance as if her soul was on fire.

As far as technical skill was concerned, he was correct. Alix was never more than quite good. But that night, below the gold and crystal chandelier, beneath the expensively painted ceiling and under the gaze of the benevolently chubby cherubim, Alix was swept away by the dance.

She waltzed with Ger for what felt like hours, or maybe it was just seconds. Her feet were tired and sore, but she barely even noticed. By the end of the night, Ger had repeated the steps so many times that he barely had to pay attention to them anymore. He was, instead, able to focus on Alix, who was of a height with him and whose soft fur brushed against his cheek like a butterfly's kiss as she laid her head on his shoulder. Even Chip knew better than to interrupt and claim his promised dance.

"You can ask her next time," Mrs. Potts said, patting his rim gently. "I'm sure they will be dancing again soon."

"Good," said Chip with a yawn. "Cause it's fun and there's nice music."

"Yes, dear," said Mrs. Potts, dropping a kiss on his forehead as he snuggled closer and watched.

Even enchanted objects have a limit and, as midnight drew closer, the musicians ended their two and a half hour long dance set. Ger and Alix bowed to one another, matching grins on their faces.

"Thank you," said Ger, the first of the two of them to speak. "And not just for putting up with my feet long enough for them to finally figure out what to do."

"You're welcome," said Alix. "And thank you as well. I had a wonderful evening."

"Me too," Ger said with a sigh. "I've never enjoyed a ball more. Well, I've never enjoyed a ball at all until tonight, but I've only been to four total. But what I really meant was that this was one of the most enjoyable nights of my life."

Only one of? Alix thought to herself. It was easily the best night of her life.

They stepped outside for a breath of fresh air—dancing was decidedly tiring, even if you only noticed how much so afterwards. Ger led Alix to a small, stone bench and they sat there, gazing up at the stars and not speaking. Conversation between them had been free and easy, but this was the first time that they had managed companionable silence without the help of reading material. Alix found that she liked it.

Her head was resting on Ger's shoulder again and he slid his arm around her waist. It was a good thing that the enchanted objects had remained inside, otherwise the couple on the bench might have overheard them cheering. And while this evening had relaxed and calmed Alix like nothing before, giving her back some of the bright and cheerful little girl she had been before her parents had died, it was unlikely that an interruption from their audience would have gone over well.

"You seem happy," Ger remarked, staring out at the vastness of the night sky.

"I am," Alix answered, too tired to be surprised at this state of affairs. "Aren't you?"

There was a moment's pause. "Of course I am," said Ger.

Alix did not miss his hesitation. "What's the matter?" she queried, turning to look up at Ger. And then, almost without thinking, "Can I help?"

Ger smiled a small, sad smile. "Probably not," he said with a shrug. "It's just...I mean, living here has been like something out of a fairy tale and I never even imagined this kind of thing happening to me, it's better than University, even, but-"

"But?" Alix pressed.

"But I miss my father," he said with a shrug. "Every so often I just get this horrible feeling that I'm sitting here, in the lap of luxury, and he's at home in that drafty little cottage without any idea of what has happened to me or if I'm alright. Some prodigal son I am."

At least you have a father alive to worry about you, Alix thought, but with less of her usual bitterness. Her parents had remained lurking in the back of her mind, even as she danced with Ger and enjoyed herself. She wondered what they would think of her at this first ball. Would they be proud of her?

She had to concede, she had not done much to make them feel in the least bit pleased to have her as their legacy. She had avoided thinking of them for many reasons, but one of the foremost ones had been because she could practically hear their calm, gentle voices asking her what she thought she was doing and what had become of her that she had grown so cold?

Recently, though, she was beginning to think that they might be pleased with her after all. It may have been that thought, or it might have just been the magic of the night, that made Alix make her next offer.

"You could check in on him, you know," she said, "From the castle."

Ger was intrigued. "Really? How is that possible?"

"More magic." Alix grabbed his hand. "Come with me."

Had she not been actively pulling him forward, Ger would have been reticent to follow and may even have protested her dragging him into the West Wing. He remembered his previous sojourn through those rooms—he had not been back since that fateful night when Alix had kicked him out. And while, in retrospect, that had been one of the most fortuitous occurrences of his entire visit, he had never returned to those rooms. He did not want to remind himself of the monster his hostess could be. It had, after all, been so easy to forget.

Alix led him to a room that he'd not noticed on his first abortive trip into her particular domain. It was set away from the main chamber with the rose and looked like nothing so much as a storage room for broken furniture.

Ger winced at the sight of them; he had become to used to seeing people when he looked at furniture that the sight of these broken piles sent a shiver up his spine and reminded him of a pile of bones in a pirate's lair.

"Don't worry," Alix said in response to his shudder, "They were never alive."

Ger breathed a sigh of relief, then asked "Why not?"

He realized, afterwards, just how foolish it was to ask why the furniture was _not_ walking and talking, but Alix merely shrugged.

"I don't know," she said. "I had never thought about it—I was only grateful that the wood and glass and fabric up here is no more than that. Well, mostly."

The mostly was not reassuring, at least until Alix reached down behind a splintered dresser and pulled out a mirror set in a pearl and silver base. It was a small, lovely keepsake that did not fit in with the carnage in the room at all.

"Wow," said Ger as Alix passed it to him. "Where did this come from?"

"It just appeared one day," Alix answered, telling the truth, but not quite the whole truth. "It's a magic mirror."

Ger raised an eyebrow skeptically. "Oh, it's alive too?"

"I don't think so," said Alix. She hoped not—if the glass was alive and actually knew some of what she had asked to see, she would be mortified. "It's magic in a different way. When you look into it, it does not only reflect your face, but whatever you request it to show. So, if you wanted to see what you father was doing at this very moment-"

"I need only ask," Ger finished. "Thank you, Alix. I...I think this will help, just being able to check up on him like this."

Good, Alix thought, nearly breathing her sigh of relief aloud. She wanted Ger to be happy and if she could take away the only thing currently upsetting him, then maybe he'd never leave.

Ger held the handle of the mirror and looked into it. "Please show me my father, Maurice Dupont," he said, just in case the mirror's magic did not extend to identifying his relatives without the their names.

Ger's reflection, which had lain quiescent in the glass of the mirror, began to fade away and was soon replaced with an entirely new image.

_**T.B.C.**_

A/N – Oh, hey, look! Another chapter done. And can I just say that dance scenes are impossible to write! They're gorgeous to watch, but pretty much defy textual description. That's part of the reason this chapter is not as long as the last one. Oh, and that I usually aim for between 2500 and 3000 words per chapter and the last one was 5500.

A few historical accuracy notes – I messed around a bit with dinner, since technically one did not pass dishes at all, but rather passed one's own plates or simply did without the stuff at the other end of the table. Also, one or two of the dishes mentioned are probably from a decade or two after Beauty and the Beast could possibly have occurred—mostly because I prefer haute-cuisine to the previous incarnation of French Food. There was pre-dinner finger food, though, even then.

Ditto about waltzing – it did not really become popular in France until 1786, three years before the revolution, so I'm cutting things a bit fine here.

And I have not found any material that suggests that 18th century students hoarded food the way that 21st century students do (go to a department party and just TRY to reach the the cheese platter these days), but I also have not done all that much research into the University of the 18th century and, assuming students have not changed ALL that much, I see no reason why not to have a bit of fun at their (okay, our) expense.

Anyway, tune in again soon as we return to our regularly scheduled drama and angst. And by that, I mean that Genevieve is back.

Readers, Fav-ers and Reviewers, I love you all – keep coming back and I'll keep writing!

Damian


	17. Madness and Method

**Chapter 17**

_Madness and Method_

"Please show me my father, Maurice Dupont."

Captured in the noiseless frame was a scene from a nightmare. All Ger could see for a moment was his father's desperate and horrified face between two iron bars. Maurice's hands clutched at the rods—he shook them and shouted something that Ger could not hear.

"Oh, no," hissed Ger, his grip tightening involuntarily around the mirror.

"What is it?" Alix asked, trying to lean over his shoulder and see.

The iron bars were set in a cell door of some sort, providing little in the way of illumination into the darkness beyond. In any event, the image was focused on Maurice, who now hung his head dejectedly, his forehead pressed against them.

"Where is he?" Ger muttered, trying to understand what he was seeing.

The mirror, hearing what it interpreted as a command, drew itself back to give Ger a fuller view of the proceedings. He could now see that his father was in some crude sort of caravan, specially built for transporting captives. And, painted in lurid red letters on the side, were the words "Maison des Lunes".

"How dare they?" Ger snarled at the wagon. "How dare anyone lay a finger on him?" He slammed the mirror down on the nearest surface and stormed out of the room.

Alix grabbed it up immediately. "Show me what he saw, you cursed mirror," she said sharply and the scene resolved again. She saw the old man she had thrown into the dungeon, looking frailer and thinner than he had then, framed by the door of his temporary cell. She felt a brief stab of hatred towards her former self, for having imprisoned the poor man into her dungeons. It had not seemed so terrible at the time, and yet. Also, she had only meant to lock him up for one night, to teach him a lesson. She doubted that Maurice's current captors had any such temporal limit in mind. "What kind of human being could do something so cruel?"

She had not realized she had spoken aloud until the scene in the mirror slid sideways. Standing a few feet away were an old man and two young women deep in conversation. Not for the first time, Alix wished that she could hear what was going on in the scenes enacted in the mirror. The taller of the two, and the one who seemed to be the leader, was saying something to the man, who smiled in a way that made Alix want to retch.

It had the same effect on the taller woman, who shuddered ever so slightly. Alix wondered what she could possibly be doing with this man and how they were involved in Ger's father's incarceration.

Alix studied the woman, which was a far more appealing prospect than studying the old man, with his parchment skin hands that never seemed still and his unnerving smile. She was absolutely stunning, the sort of beauty who could quiet a room just by walking into it. Her hair was shining and dark, pinned in a crown atop her head. Her skin was smooth and pale, like a moonstone. Her body was perfect and Alix, despite her princess dress and tiara, was very glad that the mirror did not reflect her own image.

What she saw next was so startling that it succeeded in taking her mind off the topic of her own hideousness. The young woman reached into a small satchel at her waist and withdrew a leather wallet. She handed it to the old man, who took it and hefted it in a measuring way.

The young woman glanced at him archly and said something. The man flung his head back and laughed, then shook his head and replied. There were a few more words before he took her hand and held it for a moment too long as they bid farewell. Then he gave her an ironic salute and made his way to the front of the caravan. The two women slipped aside, into the shadows of a nearby building and watched as it rattled away, with Ger's poor father waving his hands out the window and seeming to shout. Alix could not hear him. The girls, it seemed, chose not to. Whether there was anyone else around to answer his call was unknown.

Alix realized that she had to tell Ger what she had seen. Granted, it was all a bit of a blur to her, but she hoped that he would know who those people were and what the monetary transaction involving Monsieur Dupont and the Maison des Lunes might mean.

She darted into the ballroom, where the objects were waiting in a huddle, looking as though they were dying to know what was going on, but terrified that they might be killed, should they ask.

"Well, don't just stand there," she said impatiently. "Go to Ger's room and tell him to meet me in the front hall."

"Yes, your Grace," said Lumiere and Cogsworth, both running off so quickly, they did not even stop to argue over which of them the mistress had actually been addressing.

Alix went down to the front hall, followed by Mrs. Potts who, having seen the look on Ger's face as he'd rushed out and the look on Alix's now, knew better than to say anything.

Ger nearly ran into Alix on his way out the door. He had gotten changed into the old clothes he had worn when he'd first arrived.

"Stop," she snarled angrily and, when Ger didn't, she grabbed him by the collar and made him.

"Alix, I have to go-"

"Of course you do," she retorted, and whether it was sardonic or not was anyone's guess, "But you're running off like an idiot into the night again and if you get lost or get pneumonia this time, how exactly will that help your father?"

Ger stared at her, "But Alix-"

"Ten minutes, Ger. Go to the kitchen door, get your cloak and hat and grab some food while you're there."

"But I can't take your things," Ger protested, not entirely sure why.

"Like hell you can't," Alix growled, startling both herself and Ger with her vehemence. "Go and get them."

Ger wasted a few seconds staring at her, before he pulled her into a giant bear-hug. "Thank you," he said gruffly. "I was afraid you wouldn't want me to go, but, Alix, this is beyond anything."

He dashed off.

Of course I don't want you to go, Alix shouted silently at him. I want you to stay here forever, but I can't very well force you to. You'd never forgive me if I didn't let you go.

Alix blinked a few times, feeling the beginnings of tears prickle in the corners of her eyes. And I'll never forgive you for leaving.

She wanted to fling herself down on her bed and scream and sob and tear off her dress and tiara and curse them for not working. They were supposed to make Ger want to remain with her forever, not run away.

She closed her eyes and forced herself to take a few deep breaths. It would not do for Ger to come back and find her in tears. Especially because he would leave anyway and then she would have to watch him walk away instead of staying and comforting her. She wouldn't be important enough.

By the time Alix had mastered herself, Ger was back, and dressed for winter. He also had a small rucksack slung over his shoulder in which, Alix hoped, had been placed some provisions.

"Thank you," he said again, going towards her. Before he reached Alix, though, she took the magic mirror, which she had kept hold of all this time, and handed it to Ger.

"You'll need this," she said. "It'll show you the quickest way back to town and help you find where they've taken your father."

"Alix-"

"And there's something else. After you left, I saw the people who had taken him into custody. There was a horrible looking old man with yellow eyes and a face that looked like a skull who took money from a girl with black hair, wearing red."

"Was she beautiful?" Ger asked immediately, which made Alix's heart sink.

"Very," Alix answered.

Ger swore. "It's Genevieve," he said. "But what could she possibly think she was...thank you for telling me. Thank you for everything." He pulled Alix into another hug, but this time it was far gentler. Alix wanted to dig her claws into his shirt and never let go.

"I'll miss you," she whispered, hardly meaning to speak

Ger turned and kissed her cheek. "I'll miss you too. And I'll be back soon, I promise."

And then he was gone. And Alix was alone.

* * *

Ger got Philippa saddled and bridled in record time, swinging up onto her back and kicking her through the castle gates into the woods. The mirror was tucked into the saddlebow and Ger glanced down at it every so often, to check that the road before him was the same as the one pictured in the mirror when he had asked to see the road to Molyneaux. He rode as swiftly as Philippa would carry him and paid almost no attention to the denizens of the forest, who tended to avoid him as well. The night-forest was a dangerous place, with errant branches and tricky paths that did not always go where one expected, but Ger had magic and righteous anger on his side, as well as a little bit of luck. He reached Molyneaux but three hours after setting out from the castle. The village was completely dark and Ger shivered a little at its emptiness.

He lifted the mirror. "Show me where my father is," he commanded it. Ger realized, after he had spoken, that he probably should have asked the mirror for directions, but as soon as he saw the scene before him, he realized there was no need. The caravan was sitting right outside his cottage and the horse that pulled it was stabled for the night in Philippa's stall.

Ger walked Philippa for the last hundred or so yards out of the village and over the bridge to their cottage. He did not want to alert anyone of his arrival, not until he'd seen his father.

Ger remained mounted and Philippa drew level to the rear of the caravan, where the window had been cut into the door and fitted with iron bars. His perch atop the mare gave him the height he needed to peer down through the windows and into the cell within.

The smell emanating from the cell was that of moldy hay and refuse. The cell was so dark, Ger could not make out a single shape, but if he could get his father's attention...

"Papa," Ger hissed, pressing his face up close to the bars. "Papa, it's me. It's Ger."

There was no response. Aggravated, Ger repeated himself and then, when that failed as well, rattled the bars and raised his voice.

There was a moan from within the cell. "For God's sake," said Ger, "Answer me!"

"Ger?" called Maurice's quavering voice from within the cell. "Ger, are you there?"

"I'm right here, Papa," said Ger, shoving his hand into the cell as far as it would go and waiting there, with his shoulder pressed against the iron, for his father to respond.

A moment later, Ger felt a fumbling hand reach out and swipe past his sleeve. He caught the hand's wrist and pulled the attached man to his feet.

"Papa," Ger said, knowing the feel of his father's hand well enough that it was a statement, rather than a question "Are you alright?"

"Ger," said Maurice, sounding dazed, "How could you possibly be here?"

"I've come back," answered Ger. "I've come back and I'm going to get you out of here."

"I thought I'd never see you again," Maurice said wonderingly.

"You're not seeing me now," Ger pointed out, feeling an absurd wave of relief. His father was here and speaking and seemed to be in one piece. Now all Ger had to do was get him out, which should be a simple task as soon as Ger figured out towards whom to direct his complaints. "Now, where is the man-" Ger's lip curled into a sneer at the word, "-who put you in here?"

"In _our_ cottage," Maurice answered with a slight note of fury in his voice. "They left me here and decided that they would avail themselves of our amenities before setting off for the Maison tomorrow morning."

"What were they doing here?" Ger wondered. True, the old Abbey that was now being used to house lunatics was but ten miles from Molyneaux, but the owner rarely left the asylum, especially at night. He remembered Alix's words, about a transfer of money between Genevieve and an old, ugly man. There was something going on, but Ger knew he was missing something, some crucial element.

"I don't know," Maurice answered. "I had made up my mind to go back to the Beast's castle and make that horrible monster set you free-"

"Alix," Ger interrupted.

"What?"

"That horrible monster. Her name is Alix. And she likes books. We get along quite well these days. But that's besides the point. Papa, what could possibly have possessed you to go off into the woods alone, at night and in the middle of winter? You could have been killed."

"Yes," said Maurice bitterly, "Only a madman would do such a thing and so clearly I am mad and must be locked up for my own safety. Quod erat demonstratum."

"Not mad," Ger corrected. "Foolish, perhaps, but if we incarcerated every man who has ever done anything foolish, the entire population of France would find itself behind bars. I'm going to go straighten this out."

"Ger," said Maurice warningly. "These men are dangerous."

"You said the same thing about Alix," Ger remembered, almost fondly. "And she's quite nice so long as you don't get between her and her tea."

And, leaving his father with a dumbfounded expression on his face, Ger went to enter his own house. Before he could, though, there was the problem of what to do with Philippa.

"Oh well," said Ger cheerfully, dismounting and leading her to the stall door, "Might as well start by kicking out this unwanted guest.

The nag who had drawn the caravan was asleep in the corner, a stalk of hay poking out of its mouth. "Wake up, Dobbin." said Ger, putting a halter on it and slapping it gently on the side. The horse blinked a few times, stared at Ger, decided it didn't much care who this human was and closed its eyes.

"Oh no you don't." Ger dragged the sluggish, but unprotesting horse out of the stall and, with a bit of effort, convinced it to follow him into the field by the cottage. There, he removed the halter and gave the horse a smack on its rump. It started off and, fairly quickly, realized it was not carrying anything heavy behind itself, and picked up the pace to go off and explore the meadow.

"Excellent," said Ger, finally able to stable Philippa properly.

"And now, for our other unwanted guests." Ger said, then went to open the door. It was locked, which should not have surprised him. They must have taken the key from his father to get in in the first place.

Ger smiled wolfishly. One of the advantages of having a _lunatic_ inventor for a father was that he could, and did, create his own locks. Ger reached down and fiddled slightly with a small screw on the side of the lock. He heard it click in and the door swung open. Maurice had originally built it because he had a horrible habit of forgetting to unlock the door before leaving through the cellar doors and locking himself out of the cottage.

"Lovely," said Ger, going in and lighting a small candle that always sat by the door. He made his way up the stairs, marveling at how familiar the small halls were. It was nice to know he still remembered where all the creaking floorboards were.

There were two men asleep in his room, one on the bed and one, with a black eye, on the floor. They both looked young, brawny and stupid. They looked like farmhands or some other form of hired help, which was probably what they were.

In Maurice's room, though, slept a man who exactly fit Alix's description of horrible looking old man, although he could not tell if his eyes were really yellow.

At least, not until Ger accidentally tread on one of the squeaky floorboards he had not memorized and those yellow eyes shot open and the man sat straight up in bed.

"Bonne nuit," said Ger, looking at the man, "Welcome to my house. Please get out."

"I beg your pardon" said the man, who had been sleeping in his clothes. "I did not expect you to be home tonight."

"You expected to take my father away to the lunatic asylum without any interference whatsoever on my part?" Ger said incredulously.

The man smiled, his teeth gleaming like gold in the candlelight. "Your father is a very sick man," he said in a voice that sounded as though he was speaking to a child...or perhaps to a madman.

"Oh?" said Ger. "He's been breaking into people's houses and sleeping in their beds at night, has he?"

The man laughed. "I am Monsieur D'Arque, caretaker of the Maison des Lunes at the Abbé-"

"I know who you are," interrupted Ger. "And I demand that you release my father and get out of my home."

There was not much more to say. The man rose to his feet, bowed obsequiously to Ger, and left the room. Ger followed him.

"And my father," he said, as D'Arque rapped on the door of Ger's room and roused the two men sleeping in there.

"I regret to say that I cannot free him," said D'Arque. "This is not the first time that a man's family has objected to our...taking him for his own good, but this is how things must be. Order cannot be kept with madmen racing about the town."

"He is not mad," Ger said through clenched teeth.

"On the contrary," said D'Arque silkily, "While you were, what was it, temporarily absent, your father went running into the tavern, raving about you being kidnapped by a Beast in a castle. Then, to compound that foolishness, he races off into the forest in the middle of the night, with no idea of where he is going, still raving that he must go and rescue you. You can see how it looks, Monsieur."

"Yes," Ger said. "I can see very well. I'll make a deal with you. If I can prove that my father is not insane, then will you release him?"

D'Arque flung his head back and laughed. "My dear boy, are you seriously suggesting that you can prove the existence of a Beast in the forests of Molyneaux?"

Ger smiled enigmatically. "I'm merely asking that, if I can provide you with sufficient evidence that my father is not insane, will you free him?"

D'Arque looked at the boy, just standing there and waiting. He was almost tempted to offer to take him into custody as well, but there was something about Gervaise Dupont that almost screamed sane. Also, the boy could overpower him before he could even call in his two assistants. In fact, Ger could probably have just attacked him in his sleep and taken the keys to the caravan. D'Arque was pleased that had not occurred, and found himself feeling more kindly towards the youth than he otherwise might have.

It was that thought, more than any other, that decided D'Arque. "Very well," he answered. "If you can find a way to prove that your father is sane, then I shall let him go. He paused. "I would, of course, appreciate it if you would perform this miracle in front of some witnesses from the town. I would not like to think that you were trying to trick me in anyway."

"I understand fully."

"And your father remains my patient until I and my fellow townsmen are satisfied."

Ger gritted his teeth. "As you wish. Now. For the last time. Get out of my house!"

D'Arque did as he was bade. He took his hat from the peg beside the door, placed it on his head and left, followed by the two grumpy sleepers. Ger watched them leave.

"You may sleep in the barn," Ger called, "If you don't mind the smell."

The two men turned to each other, shrugged and went off to the barn. D'Arque turned up his nose at the idea and stalked into the village. Ger hoped he was heading for the tavern.

There were just two more things he had to do before he could finally fall into bed, or onto the couch, since he did not relish sleeping in any of the beds in the house until the linens had been changed.

He went down to the cellar, found a long, thick rope that his had father used for something or other, and used it to tie the caravan securely to the stable. Between that and catching their horse, it should take D'Arque and his compatriots quite a while to try and escape without honoring their bargain and Ger should be able to overhear anything they might try.

Ger grabbed the quilt off his father's bed and dragged it down the stairs and out to the caravan. He stuffed it through the iron bars as best he could and Maurice, as soon as he grasped what was happening, pulled from his end.

"There," said Ger. "That should at least keep you warm."

"Thank you," said Maurice. "Ger, about the Beast..."

"We'll talk tomorrow," said Ger, stifling a huge yawn. "I've had a really long day."

Ger practically toppled onto the couch and was asleep within moments. He barely had enough time to think, but his last thoughts, as his eyes closed and his breathing grew even, were of Alix, standing by the door of the castle, with her hand against the cheek he had kissed.

By the time the flap to his rucksack flipped open and a little teacup emerged, Ger was already fast asleep.

_**T.B.C.**_

A/N – Oh, hey, look, someone reintroduced plot into this love story. Where'd they get an idea like that?

I have got very little to say about this bit, mostly because I don't know why it happened like this. It's just one of those "this is how the story happened". I'm just the written, no one tells me anything until after it's already written down, then I get to say "Oh, _that's_ the story I'm telling".

Questions, comments, thoughts, ideas, speculations and even small furry creatures are welcome (I'd especially appreciate a puppy). Tune in next time to watch Ger use the 18th century Skype/GPS system known as the magic mirror to try and prove the existence of a Beast.

Damian


	18. The Fairest One of All

**Chapter 18**

_The Fairest One of All_

When Ger awoke the next morning, it was to the sound of a protesting horse being dragged back towards his cottage. Once he was conscious enough to get his bearings, he grinned triumphantly. There was something so nice about a well-executed plan.

He stretched and rubbed his neck, before striding the length of the room to peer out the window. He resisted the urge to call out and ask how the men were enjoying their struggle, though it took most of his willpower to do so. Taunting them was tempting, but it would not help his cause.

He was still in yesterday's clothes, but they had been clean when he'd donned them and, though they were a bit rumpled from having been slept in, albeit not for very long, Ger thought he looked well enough and did not dare take the time to change.

He was outside and leaning against the back of the wagon by the time the men finally got the horse back. It looked better than it had the night before, though that might be a product of the daylight rather than any improvements due to its impromptu excursion.

"You can leave the nag here," he said, waving at the hitching post outside Phillipa's stall. "And, if you would be so good as to go and find your employer and remind him of our agreement, I would much appreciate it."

"You won't win, you know," said one of the men, grinning broadly at Ger. "Monsieur D'Arque never lets a prisoner out after he's got em."

"Aren't you supposed to call them patients? Or residents?" Ger asked a bit nervously.

The men laughed. "Oh, he calls em that, all right. But they're prisoners all the same." They left.

"Don't worry," Ger said through the bars to his father, just in case Maurice had been listening to the proceedings. "I'm going to get you out of here, no matter what."

He did not wait for his father to reply. He had to go inside and remember what he'd done with his rucksack from the night before. That was the downside of arriving back at three in the morning, dead-tired and needing to deal with unwanted houseguests.

"Where did I put you?" Ger muttered, his eyes darting around the room.

"Right here," chirped a voice from under the table.

"Thanks," Ger replied, and it took him a moment to register that the furniture should not be responding to him like this. He dropped to his hands and knees and stared at Chip, who had curled up against the rucksack and looked as comfortable as a teacup could be.

"What are you doing here?" Ger demanded. "And does your mother know where you are?"

Chip had the decency to look sheepish. "I, um, forgot to tell her. But you were running so fast and I was scared you were gonna leave without me!"

Ger put Chip down on the table. "I don't recall ever saying that you could come with me," Ger pointed out.

Chip's eyes grew big and his bottom lip quivered. "But…but I didn't want you to leave, Ger! And I thought that if I came with you, then you'd have to take me back."

Ger had to hand it to Chip, it was a pretty good plan, for all that it was hastily conceived by a young teacup of indeterminate age.

"I will have to take you home," said Ger. "Which is convenient, as I was planning on returning as soon as I sorted out this mess here."

"Mess?" Chip asked, sounding all too eager. "Where?"

"My father—you remember my father, don't you?" Chip nodded. "Anyway, either he or I managed to annoy a few people with influence around here and, consequently, he was thrown into…well, let's call it prison."

Chip gasped. "Can I help rescue him?"

One thing you could say about Chip, he was quick on the uptake. And eager for adventure. One would think that living in an enchanted castle would be enough adventure for one lifetime.

Ger shook his head. "I'm going to try and talk them into letting him go," Ger said. "I think this might be something that will go over better if I do it alone."

"Are you sure?" Chip asked anxiously. "I really wanna help!"

Ger sighed. "How about you ride along with me in my pocket," he suggested. "You could be my moral support."

"Is that an important job?"

"Extremely important," Ger answered solemnly. "I don't think this would work without it."

"Alright," said Chip, equally serious. "I can do that."

"Excellent," said Ger, holding out his hand for Chip to hop into and then slipping the teacup into his jacket pocket. Having found his rucksack with the teacup's help, he checked underneath it and, sure enough, there was the magic mirror.

His entire plan, such as it was, hinged on being able to make his fellow townsfolk believe that the mirror was not a trick, but could actually show what was there. He would have to allow one of them to test it, then, and let that stand as proof that the mirror can do as he claimed.

Which begged the question of which of those ignorant oafs would not manage to shatter the mirror. Ger sighed. He should probably give it to Genevieve, he had no doubt she would be here soon. She was up to her neck in this, according to Alix.

But why? Ger was annoyed that he still could not puzzle out her motivations. How did it help her to have Maurice locked up? It was possible that this was just Genevieve's revenge for spurning her, but it seemed like an awful lot of money and effort. Then again, who was he to puzzle the workings of that female's mind?

He had a feeling this next development was not going to make her happy. Good, Ger thought to himself. After this, he and his father were heading straight back to the castle and Ger would ask Alix for a bedroom and workroom for his father—he was fairly sure she would have no objections to that eminently reasonable request—and they could shake off the dust of Molyneaux for good.

There was a knock on the door and Ger straightened his collar and rose to his feet. He held the mirror slightly behind his back and went to answer the door, expecting to see the cadaverous features of Monsieur D'Arque.

The sight that greeted him was far lovelier, and yet in no way more desirable.

"Genevieve," Ger said flatly. He stood in the doorway, filling it as best he could, so that she could not slip past him into the room.

"Oh, Ger," she said, catching his arm. "I just heard the horrible news. Your poor father!"

Ger nearly snorted in disbelief.

"Yes, it did come as a shock," he agreed.

"At least you came back in time. Now, maybe you and I could work together and explain to Monsieur D'Arque that your father is completely harmless and that no one minds having a mad old inventor around, truly we don't." She turned the full force of her smile on Ger, who was too busy waiting for the other shoe to drop.

"How…kind of you," he said.

"I know, I'm just good natured like that." Genevieve tucked her arm in his. "Besides, what would people say if they heard that my father-in-law was locked up in a lunatic asylum?"

"Your what?" Ger yelped, yanking his arm out of Genevieve's surprisingly strong grip.

"Father-in-law," she replied, meeting Ger's annoyed glare with a cool gaze of her own. "Ger, do be sensible. No one is going to believe anything you say and they're certainly not going to let 'crazy old Maurice' out without a good reason. You _need_ my help."

"And you help comes with a price," Ger said. "I see how it is. Out of curiosity, just how much did you pay D'Arque to incarcerate my father?"

Genevieve's jaw dropped. "Did he tell you that?" she spluttered, rapidly trying to gather her composure back. This was not at all how she had planned on having this meeting occur. When D'Arque had appeared at the tavern for the third time last night and woke her out of her sleep to inform her that Ger was back and was planning on trying to prove his father's sanity the next morning, Genevieve had been thrilled. The first part of her plan had gone perfectly. It had seemed that all she'd needed to do was make sure she reached Ger before the crowd did, offer her support and then make sure he was in no position to refuse her help or the conditions she set. When had it gone wrong?

And why in God's name had that horrible man told Ger about their secret bargain? What could he possibly have been thinking?

Ger smiled enigmatically. "Thank you for your offer, Genevieve, but I think I can handle this one all by myself."

"I could see to it that your father never gets out of the _Maison des Lunes_," Genevieve purred dangerously. "I offered you my help and you'd be a fool to spurn it. You do not want me as your enemy."

"And I would rather hang myself than have you as my friend or as my wife," Ger retorted. "Now please get off my front stoop, I'm due for a civilized conversation with your co-conspirator any minute."

Genevieve stormed down the stone steps that led up to the cottage door and was just in time to meet with Monsieur D'Arque and many more townsmen than Ger had planned on encountering. Apparently, this gaoler in everything but name was taking no chances. That was fine by Ger, the more people here, the less he would have to rely on gossips to get the news around.

"How did it go?" D'Arque asked Genevieve. "Will he cave?"

Genevieve gave D'Arque a poisonous glance that, in his opinion, only made her more attractive. "Let Gervaise Dupont rot in your cells with his father," she sneered.

D'Arque flung back his head and laughed. "I feel certain that he will," he said with a false smile. "After all, I doubt he can procure a Beast on such short notice and it would not be fair to take only one of them into my care when they profess the same insanity." He felt rather uncomfortable with the idea of trying to take the younger Dupont into custody, but with the entire village as witnesses and as his assistants, perhaps they could subdue him before the boy became too troublesome.

Genevieve nodded. And I will not forget your betrayal, old man. Ger might have been mine if you had not turned his mind against me. On hearing D'Arque's words, Genevieve was convinced that the old man had told Ger of their deal so that he could imprison him along with his father. It may be fitting revenge, but it was a waste of a lovely looking young man.

Ger waved cheerfully to Monsieur D'Arque from atop the stone stairs. "Bonjour. I'm glad to see that your men failed to abscond with my father during the night."

D'Arque glared at the two men, who stood by and looked sheepish, but all involved knew that it was more for formality's sake than because their employer was actually displeased with what they had done.

"It seemed only fair to give you a chance," said D'Arque with his cheerless grin.

"Indeed, and I'm quite grateful for it. However, my methods are going to be rather…unorthodox, so I would prefer that you verify them before you take me at my word."

D'Arque had been expecting a speech like this, but he found himself intrigued nonetheless. "Very well, Monsieur Ger. I am at your disposal."

Ger descended the stairs and stood a few feet away from the crowd, who were beginning to remind him a bit worryingly of a mob. He patted the pocket with Chip in it for reassurance, then produced the mirror.

"How…pretty," Genevieve mocked. "What do you plan to do with it?"

"Ahh," said Ger, "This is a magic mirror."

The crowd tittered slightly and Genevieve smirked. She had not counted on Ger to make it so easy for them to prove that he was as mad as his father.

"And I can prove it," he continued, holding it up so that the crowd could see their own faces reflected in its depth. "Show me the Cathedral of Notre Dame."

Ger did not have to look to know that the mirror had done its job. The gasps and cries were more than enough confirmation.

"That's impossible," said one man flatly.

"It is magic!" said one of the baker's sons, probably the younger one.

Ger smiled and handed him the mirror. He was as good a choice as any. "Just ask it what you want to see," he said, "And it will show it to you."

The boy held it as if he was afraid it would bite him. Ger had to admit that, wreathed in what looked like green fire, the mirror was a bit intimidating. Which was all the better for him.

The baker's boy was not very creative; he asked to see his father in the bake shop. But it worked, which was all that Ger cared about. He wanted to reassure people that he was not lying about the mirror's full powers and, unless he let them choose what it would display, there might be some doubt. It meant that, as soon as the first request worked, the townsmen suddenly mobbed the poor boy for a chance to use the mirror and test it themselves.

Ger was nothing if not thorough, but he was getting bored of the experimenting. So was Genevieve, although it might have been the side effect of her not being the center of attention for five or so minutes. She grabbed the mirror, out of Laliene's hand, who had just asked it to show her the back of her head (which Ger found to be the most surprisingly useful application of the device he had seen so far).

"Show me the most beautiful woman in Molyneaux," she told it.

Ger groaned. Leave it to Genevieve to try that. He heard her crow of delight as she showed around the mirror. Ger sighed—if nothing else, this should prove that the mirror will show whatever it should, regardless of his personal feelings on the matter.

Ger hoped, briefly, that she would continue to broaden her question as he looked forward to seeing the look on Genevieve's face when she asked the mirror to show the loveliest woman in France and she discovered it was not her. It was a pity she was too intelligent to try that, Ger reflected as she handed the mirror to Monsieur D'Arque. He would have enjoyed it.

"Very well," said Monsieur D'Arque. "I am satisfied that this strange object can do what you claim it does." His fingers tightened around the stem and Ger suddenly realized that getting the mirror _back_ might be a problem. "Now, show me the Beast that Monsieur Dupont was raving about, if indeed, such a creature exists."

D'Arque was no fool—it was likely that Maurice had seen _something_ in the woods, but it had probably been a large wolf that had frightened the man and that had been built up into a monster in his imagination. This would not create too much of a problem for his agreement with Genevieve to keep Maurice (if not Ger) locked up; any man who could not differentiate between a wolf and a strange Beast deserved to be locked up.

Except, of course, that did not seem to be the case. D'Arque was staring into the face of…well, a Beast. It was tall, as tall as a man, and dressed in a long coat and breeches that were cut to fit its hind feet. He could see the long claws as they clacked along the marble floor and watched as it shook out its mane and he got a good look at a pair of wickedly sharp fangs. The face was the worst part, for the bright eyes were human, for all they were set in a Beast's face.

D'Arque dropped the mirror and the entire crowd gasped. Genevieve tried to catch it, but she was too late and it hit the ground with a smash.

Ger smiled. "It is a magic mirror, remember?" he said as Genevieve bent down and reverently retrieved the unbroken mirror.

Genevieve stared into the face of the Beast, who seemed to be staring off into the distance, looking at Genevieve and yet past her. Genevieve wondered whether it could see them. She hoped not—she hated the monster for ruining all her carefully crafted plans and, above all, for having the temerity to be real.

"It's hideous," she cried, holding up the mirror so that the crowd, which had swelled to thirty people in the past few minutes, could all see.

"No she's not!" said Ger indignantly.

Genevieve, still holding up the mirror, turned to face Ger. "She?" she said in a disbelieving voice. "You mean to tell me that this horrific thing is a girl?"

"Let it alone, Genevieve," Ger said angrily.

"And you're what, her knight in shining armor?" Genevieve laughed, and then studied Ger's face a bit more closely. "You _do_ see yourself that way. I see how it is, you care for this monster."

"She's a friend of mine," said Ger through gritted teeth. "And a damn sight better one than you could be."

"Look at the fool," said Genevieve to the crowd. "He claims he and his father are not mad and yet he would side with an animal against me."

Ger set his jaw and refused to answer. What, after all, could he say?

"He's not mad!" shouted a voice from Ger's pocket. Ger groaned. Chip stuck most of his head (which was also most of his body) out of the pocket so he could address the crowd. "And she's not an animal! She's nice!"

Chip received an even more startled reaction from the crowd than the mirror did. Several hands reached impulsively for the little teacup, but Ger grabbed him up and held him protectively cupped between his hands. He had not wanted anyone to find out about Chip, but that was a little late now.

"What is it?" Ger heard voices in the crowd mumble. "Surely it can't be…and yet it is…a talking teacup."

"This is Chip," Ger said, holding him up. "He works at the castle."

Genevieve reached for him, but Ger held him above her head. "Absolutely not," he said. "I will not risk anyone breaking him."

On the one hand, Genevieve mused, this sounded a lot like madness. On the other hand, the teacup was speaking!

"I just want to talk to him," she said soothingly. Ger slowly lowered his hands so that Chip could peer over his curled fingers and see Genevieve. "Your name is Chip?"

Chip nodded solemnly, a bit overwhelmed now by the crowd and the voices. He had felt very brave inside of Ger's pocket, but outside was another matter.

"And you work at the castle?" Genevieve said, the wheels in her head beginning to turn. The mirror might have been a strange miracle, but coupled with this little teacup, it suggested something about this strange place.

Chip nodded again.

"Are all the teacups like you?" Genevieve asked. "That is, can they walk and talk?"

Chip shrugged. "Some can," he mumbled. "I'm the best talker, but all of them can walk. But that's not special, everyone can walk."

Genevieve's eyes went wide. "Do you mean to tell me that every single thing in that castle is alive?"

Chip nodded and Ger suddenly realized where Genevieve was going. "Don't you da-" he began but it was too late.

"My friends," said Genevieve, turning back to the crowd and lowering the mirror. "We've been granted an extraordinary gift. In this mysterious castle lives a treasure beyond any of our wildest dreams. Just imagine it – plates, cups, brushes, chairs, all of which will do exactly what we say." Her eyes sparkled. "We could all live like kings! And whatever we don't want, we can sell. Think of it. Why, I bet just this teacup would be worth a king's ransom!"

"You can't to that!" Ger shouted. "They're people, you can't just go and kidnap them!"

"They're not people," said Genevieve sweetly, "They're things." She looked around at the crowd, all of whom seemed uneasy.

At hearing her words, Ger slipped Chip back into his pocket and the little teacup huddled in the dark. He did not like that woman.

"Well?" she said. "Are you with me? Shall we go to the castle and collect our dues?"

The blacksmith spoke up. "Mademoiselle Avenant," he said a bit nervously, "I'm not sure if this is a good-"

"How long have you been waiting to buy a new bellows, Jean-Luc?" she interrupted him. "Almost five years now. And every year, at the spring fair, you come home without it because you just can't scrape together the money. Imagine being able to go the fair this year and buy the nicest new pair of bellows in Clermont-Ferraud. Imagine being able to expand your smithy. This castle is a treasure trove and it is sitting in the hands of a stupid beast. Why should we let all this wealth go to waste when we can use it to better our lives?"

Jean-Luc scratched his head. It was a good point. Why should the Beast have the money when he needed it to feed his family? It just wasn't fair.

The rest of the men were nodding along, except for one of Genevieve's boys, who raised his hand as he were a child and she was his schoolteacher.

"What is it?" she asked, a bit more brusquely than she intended.

"What about the Beast?" he asked timidly.

Genevieve cast a somewhat scornful gaze over the gathered men and held up the mirror. "Show me the Beast," she commanded.

Alix was sitting on the floor of the West Wing, her head in her hands and her tail wrapped tightly around her body. "Some Beast," said Genevieve. "Oh, yes, _she_ truly is terrifying." Genevieve gave that bright, ringing laugh of hers. "I could probably handle her on my own, do you honestly think that we cannot dispose of her as a group?"

"How dare you!" Ger interrupted. "How dare you walk into someone's home and attack them and-"

"Shut up!" Genevieve snarled. "We all know your real reason. You want to keep the castle's riches for yourself!"

"What? No! I just want to protect my friends from-"

"Your friends. What about us? You lived among us for three years, Gervaise Dupont, and you've never even treated us like neighbors. Now a chance comes along for you to help us all and you look for excuses. You would side with a Beast over the men and women who sold you bread and shoed your horse and made your clothes?"

"You don't understand."

"Oh, we understand well enough. Gentlemen, I'm afraid that Gervaise Dupont does not have our best interests at heart."

"You arrogant little bitch!" Ger flung himself at Genevieve, so unspeakably angry that he could barely think. He was only trying to grab the mirror back from her so that she would not be find the castle, but Genevieve screamed and fell backwards in a very controlled slide into the baker's eldest son's arms.

"Get him!" the boy shouted and before Ger even knew what was happening, there were four men holding him in their iron grasps, including the blacksmith.

"Let go of me!" he shouted, struggling against them, despite recognizing that they were far too strong for him.

"Monsieur D'Arque," said Genevieve, as she was restored to standing position as delicately as a piece of china. "If you would be so good as to open your caravan for your newest inmate?"

Ger shook his head. "Please let me go, I've done nothing wrong."

D'Arque shrugged. The boy had a point, but he had no desire to get embroiled in the mob that was currently developing. If they wanted Ger locked up, it was safer to listen. "That may be true, but it's out of my hands," he said. He held up the hands in question and a large keyring dangled from the left. Ger fought his captors and nearly managed to break free, but there were just too many of them.

"Ready?" D'Arque asked the men as he stood by the door.

"Ready," they agreed. He unlocked the door and pulled it open in one, smooth motion. Maurice barely had time to blink in the sunlight before Ger went hurtling past him into the moldy straw in the corner.

"Good riddance," said Genevieve as the door slammed shut. "Now, I believe we have our fortunes to make."

_**T.B.C.**_

A/N – So I recall there being quite a bit of speculation in the comments about how I was going to handle this set of scenes, since it was generally agreed upon that Genevieve could not lead a mob with torches and pitchforks. Gaston is a hunter – he hunts animals, he hunts the Beast, he hunts Belle. Genevieve is an…acquirer. She's driven by the desire to possess, and especially those things that no one else has. So it makes sense that, when faced with the prospect of a giant castle with all these rare riches in it, her first thought will be "How can I make this mine?"

I also figured I might as well earn the rating and swear in here. Genevieve deserved it. I have to admit, I LOVE writing her, though. There's something about her evilness that makes her an amazingly great character to work with. So I'm glad she's back.

As always, thank you for reading and reviewing; I love hearing your reactions and getting your feedback. You're all awesome!

Damian


	19. Deception and Disgrace

**Chapter 19**

_Deception and Disgrace_

After Ger had left the castle, Alix spent the night pacing around her chambers in the West Wing. She did not find her way to her bed until dawn and, even then, she could not fall asleep. The servants had tried, exactly once, to speak to her and try and draw her out.

"Please," she'd said quietly from behind the door of her bedroom, "I don't think I can stand anyone else right now. Please just let me be."

They had been so startled by the softness of the tone that they'd immediately obeyed and left, much to Alix's relief…and a bit to her disappointment as well. She had wanted someone to tell her not to worry and that Ger would be back as soon as he had settled things at home.

Home. She shivered at the word. She did not want the little cottage besides the brook to be Ger's home, she wanted him to live here. She wanted him to say "I'm coming home" and mean her castle.

Well, maybe their castle.

Alix rolled over on the large, four poster bed and stared up at the curtains. "You're in love with him," she told herself, trying to see what the words would do.

There was no frisson of excitement at saying them, only a dull ache. Of course she loved him, she thought to herself, she must have been an idiot not to have noticed earlier. She had been so caught up in the way he smiled, the way he laughed, the way he screwed up his face when concentrating on a particularly difficult passage in Plato, even the way he danced that she had somehow failed to notice what was behind that fascination.

Or maybe she had not wanted to notice. It would have been much easier if she had kept on not-noticing, that way letting him leave the castle would not have felt like ripping her heart out of her chest.

She missed the old Alix, the one who did not care about anyone and who could spend her life lost in a book and someone else's dreams without having to give a damn about her own. Why couldn't she go back to not caring? Ger had taken all that away from her.

"I hate him!" she shouted. Who was it who had said that hate and love were just opposite sides of the same emotion? Someone on Ger's interminable list of philosophers, no doubt.

And she did not hate him, not really. She could not hate him for being himself and going off to try and save someone he cared about. It was in his nature and she would not change that for all the world.

Part of her regretted giving him the mirror; then at least she could have stared at him and known how he was doing and whether he would return or not.

The "or not" chilled her to the bone.

"I've got to find something to do," she said, rising to her feet and leaving the West Wing. She just needed to distract her mind for a while, to stop panicking and give Ger a chance to do what he had set out to do. And if he did not come back…

But she would not think about that now.

She made her way down the stairs to the kitchens, reminding herself over and over again that she did not know that Ger had left for good and there was no point in thinking about it until she knew that he had. It was like a catechism, but it helped soothe the giant gaping hole that was Ger's absence.

"Your Grace," said Mrs. Potts as soon as Alix stepped into the warm kitchens, "You haven't seen Chip anywhere, have you?"

"Not since the ball," Alix answered, then winced. "Oh, no. I was supposed to save him a dance."

Mrs. Potts smiled slightly. "It's alright, he said he would wait until the next ball."

"If there ever is one," Alix muttered.

"Show a little faith in Ger," said Mrs. Potts, a bit more sharply than she meant to. "He never lost faith in you so don't you go losing faith in him."

Alix nodded, suitable chastened and also feeling a bit better. "You're looking for Chip?"

"I can't seem to find him anywhere," answered Mrs. Potts. "He must have fallen asleep under a table."

"Shall I help you look?" Alix offered. This was exactly what she had come looking for—a distraction.

"Oh, thank you, Your Grace!" said Mrs. Potts fervently.

They set off to look for the errant teacup.

* * *

It was nearing ten in morning by the time that Genevieve and her fellow raiders were prepared to set off for the castle. Word had spread around the town and every family had made sure to send at least one member to survey the riches that the castle had to offer. Genevieve played her cards with exquisite care. She used the mirror in just about every home, showing the butcher a pair of knives that could hone themselves and the fishmonger a lovely copper kettle that did not need human hands to spill out its heavy contents. She was cautious, never showing two people the same thing, but making sure that they understood that the castle held vast quantities of linens, furniture, carpets and other finery, the likes of which they had only dreamed of using for themselves. It was easy to make them believe, even if they did not see the objects do exactly what she told them they could, merely seeing a knife walk around or a stove light itself was enough proof.

She kept the best of the castle's wealth to herself, however. As soon as she'd had a moment alone, ostensibly to change into her riding dress so she could accompany the men as their guide and mascot, Genevieve held up the mirror.

"Show me what the castle has in the way of gowns," she breathed. She was treated to a display of an entire dressing room filled with beautiful dresses for all occasions. Genevieve sighed as her gaze took in a myriad of colors and fabrics. These were dresses fit for Versailles. Genevieve closed her eyes and imagined making a grand entrance in the Palace of Mirrors, with every eye turning to watch her float into the room. She could practically hear the gasps of the crowd and the whispers of "Who is that girl?" and "She's marvelous." And then the Dauphin would turn to his father and say "I must dance with her!" before abandoning his current partner to sweep Genevieve off her feet.

She would be sweet and coy, reeling him in slowly and never letting on where she came from. She would make them all think that she was a foreign princess. By the end of the night, the Dauphin would be mad with love for her.

Of course, she reminded herself, she would need the jewels to go with the clothes. "Show me what jewelry is in the castle," she told the mirror.

The mirror shifted to display an open jewel casket sitting on the floor of a room. All the contents were magnificent, but Genevieve was immediately drawn to an ornate diamond tiara sitting besides the box. It was grander than anything she had ever seen, anything she had ever dreamed of. Her hand reached out to pick it up, but encountered only the cold glass of the mirror.

"Oh, you pretty thing," she cooed. "I'll make you mine and we will go forth and conquer Paris together."

There was a knock on the door and Genevieve hastily put the mirror down as Laliene stuck her head in the door. "They want to know if you're ready yet," she said.

Genevieve glared at her. "Give me a moment," she said. "And remind them that beauty cannot be rushed."

Beauty, however, could be hurried along when she was in the mood and, barely five minutes later, Genevieve was dressed in her riding habit and striding outside to where a crowd of thirty-eight men and seven girls stood. Genevieve was not in the least surprised to see that Raisse, Doreen and Aveline had chosen to come along. They were not complete idiots and had probably realized that the castle would have pretty baubles in it. Genevieve did not mind that—those three were quite good at taking instruction and Genevieve did not mind sharing the least lovely of her largesse with her friends.

"Well, mes amis," she said, "Are you all ready?"

She was pleased to see that some of the men had thought to bring pitchforks and axes and some of the younger boys had their hunting rifles. There was no harm in being prepared.

They cheered. "Excellent," she said, mounting her black mare. Most of them were following on foot, though there were a few horses behind her and an enterprising soul or two had thought to bring a wagon. Genevieve was not worried, though. This was just the first expedition. After they laid claim to the castle and divided up the spoils, they could all come back at their leisure and take what they needed.

Monsieur D'Arque approached her and she found herself looking down at his balding and liver spotted head. She wrinkled her pert nose in distaste. "Yes?" she said brusquely.

"You seem to have made a miscalculation in my payment," said Monsieur D'Arque's oily voice.

Genevieve slid off the horse in a flash. "Be quiet, "she hissed. "Do you wish everyone to hear?"

He shrugged. "It does not bother me. But you seem to have filled most of this bag with deniers and topped it off with a few louis. Now why would you do that?"

Genevieve turned her nose up at him. "If you must know," she said quietly, "It is because you betrayed our plan to Ger and led him to turn down my offer of help. You've cheapened your services and I've paid you what you deserve."

"Mademoiselle Avenant, I do not break my word," said D'Arque, two bright spots of color appearing in his cheeks. "And I would be more inclined to believe that had you not paid me before my encounter with Monsieur Ger."

"Oh, really?" Genevieve replied, ignoring the second half of his statement.

"Mademoiselle Avenant," he repeated, "We had a deal."

"We had nothing of the sort," Genevieve answered. "I hired you to do a task and you performed it and were paid for your efforts. Appropriately, I might add. We have nothing more to say to each other."

"That is not how I remember it, Mademoiselle. I remember being promised a full twenty Louis and yet, somehow I seem to have only ten. Do you mean to tell me that you have forgotten your promise?"

Oh no, she remembered that night in the tavern extremely well. She had hated even sitting across from him and the way she could feel his eyes would steal up and down her body. He made her cringe and her discomfort at being in his presence had made the entire night seem like one long nightmare. She remembered every word he said that night, every leer and steeple of his fingers. He had neither said nor done anything untoward, and yet, once their meeting was over, Genevieve wanted nothing more than to grab one of the bristled brushes from the kitchen and scrub the memory of him off her skin.

"Get away from you, you horrid man," she snapped. "I want nothing more to do with you." Her words had been loud enough to attract the attention of the men around them. None of them would have considered themselves friends of D'Arque's and, while no one raised a hand to him, it seemed as though a circle was being formed around Genevieve and he was being pointedly excluded.

Genevieve laughed brightly in response to some concerned questions about her welfare. "No, no," she said, waving her hands graciously, "He's just an ugly old man; let's leave him to his prisoners."

She rode off, without even a backwards glance towards Monsieur D'Arque, who stood by the village fountain with a murderous look on his face, or towards the caravan still standing outside the Dupont's cottage.

Ger had long since given up shouting. For a while, it had helped to roar invectives at Genevieve, D'Arque and the entire town, but after a while both his voice and his imagination began to fail him.

Ger slumped down in the corner and stared out the window. Maurice came over and put his hand on his son's shoulder. "Ger, I'm sorry."

"Why?" said Ger bitterly, "It's not your fault. I should never have tried to reason with them."

Maurice squeezed his shoulder. "You did what was right, Ger. And that's important."

"It's not enough, though." Ger groaned. "Papa, I have to get out of here and warn Alix! If I can move quickly enough, I can reach the castle before that band of thieves and let them know what's coming."

Maurice shook his head in wonder. "This Beast means a lot to you, doesn't she?"

"Oh, Papa, if you only had a chance to get to know her," said Ger, unable to keep the hint of a smile from his face. "I'm not saying she's perfect or anything and she should never have thrown you into the dungeon, even for a day, but she's smart and she likes to read and doesn't mind arguing over the breakfast table."

"She survived three weeks of breakfast with you?" asked Maurice with a wry grin.

"Not only that," Ger responded, "She made me teach her some Plato so she could fight back."

Maurice, despite everything that had happened and despite their current predicament, actually laughed aloud. "You seem to have gotten to know each other quite well."

Ger could hear the cautious restraint in his father's voice, a familiar tone from years of Ger doing stupid things and his father quietly trying to understand why. But this was not a stupid thing, Ger knew that well.

"She's not a bad person," he said. "She was lonely and scared, I guess. And I don't think she's spent a lot of time around people, even though some of the things she's said suggest…anyway. She's a good friend of mine. Possibly one of the best I've ever had. Isn't it odd how you meet someone and just start to fit together, like one of your machines? Until the pieces are all in place, it's all loud and grating and awful, but suddenly that last bit slips into place and it's wonderful. I'm sorry, I'm rambling, aren't I?"

Maurice had not really been paying attention to his son's actual words, he was too busy listening to the warmth with which Ger spoke and the expression on his face. It was interesting that Ger described the Beast as his friend, Maurice thought. He himself had felt that feeling of everything slipping perfectly into place with another person and that had been Ger's mother. He wondered whether Ger was right to categorize what he felt as mere friendship and then wondered if that was a question he really wanted to answer.

"Not that it matters," Ger said, pulling his mind off the pleasant topic of Alix to the much more unpleasant predicament they currently found themselves in. "If we don't get out of here, I'm never going to see her again. She'll never forgive me for getting myself locked away in the _Maison des Lunes_."

"I've thought of at least three machines I could build to get us out," said Maurice morosely, "Except that all my tools are outside."

"We could try tipping the caravan over," Ger suggested. "If we both run at the side at the same time, maybe it will tip."

"Do you think that will help?" Maurice asked.

Ger paused and thought about it. "Not really, but it is the best idea I've had so far." He sighed. "That does not say much for my thinking, does it?"

Ger heard a muffled voice come from his pockets and, with a muttered curse, pulled out Chip. "Are you alright, there?" he asked worriedly. "No broken, err, bits?"

"Nope," said Chip. "I'm okay. What happened?"

"I ended up in prison with my father," said Ger.

"Oh no!" yelped Chip. "How are we going to get out?"

"Excellent question," Ger replied. "Do you have any suggestions?"

Chip wrinkled his forehead and thought hard about it. "I don't think so," he said after a moment.

"Well, keep thinking about it," Ger replied.

Maurice sat down next to Ger. "Hello again," he said to the little teacup, holding out his hand. Chip hopped cheerfully over.

"Hi!"

"What brings you here?" Maurice asked.

"I came with Ger to make sure he came back," answered Chip proudly. "I didn't want him to go away for forever and ever."

"You'd miss him if he didn't come back?"

"Uh huh. He promised to help me find a way to throw snowballs! And if he doesn't come back, then Alix is never gonna have another ball and I want a turn to dance too!"

"A ball?" Maurice said, turning to his son.

"It's a bit of a long story," Ger answered, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. "She was trying to teach me how to dance."

"Good Lord," said Maurice, "I thought you swore never to bruise your partner's toes again."

"Well, I did, but then…as I said, it is a long story."

Maurice gestured. "We don't seem to be going anywhere."

"Oh, I beg to differ," said a voice from the outside. Ger stiffened, recognizing the voice of Monsieur D'Arque.

A moment later, he heard the click of a latch and the door swung open. Ger found himself staring into the face of the asylum director.

"We had a deal, Monsieur Ger, did we not?" said the man, smiling obsequiously into the wretched darkness of the caravan. "If you prove to me that there is a Beast in the woods, then I shall let your father free." He shrugged. "I cannot very well help it if you slip out at the same time, you could easily overpower an old and frail man like myself."

Ger was out the door in a flash, leaving his father to scramble to his feet and tuck Chip into a waistcoat pocket.

"Thank you," said Ger, taking the older man's hand and shaking it firmly if distastefully. "We're indebted to you to your help."

"Yes," said D'Arque, "Unlike some people I could name, I do keep my bargains."

Ger raised an eyebrow eloquently. "Oh, did Genevieve try and cheat you somehow?"

D'Arque sneered. "That little minx is playing with fire," he said. "She paid me to take your father into my custody—I see you do not seem shocked to learn that."

"No," answered Ger. "I had surmised as much. Genevieve does not like me."

"And, at the moment, I do not like Mademoiselle Avenant. She promises much that she does not deliver. We had had a deal, after all." He clenched his fist. He had not enjoyed the experience of dealing with Genevieve Avenant. Yes, she had been lovely to look at. Almost too lovely. Her flippancy, her light and lilting voice were enough to distract a man from his business and make him forget to check the contents of her wallet until too late. He did not like the power that she had wielded over him and liked it less that she continued to wield such power over the entire village. D'Arque preferred it when people were under his thumb. He had thought that this deal with Genevieve might have given him some extra leverage to deal with her, but not. He gritted his teeth—perhaps he should bind her and throw her into one of his cells.

It was a delightful thought, but one that he dared not dwell on now, not with Gervaise Dupont looking curiously at him and waiting for an explanation.

Ger had no interest in prying into the man's private affairs, but the asylum-keeper had seemed in the middle of a thought. He made a small, interrogative noise.

"Also," D'Arque added, almost as afterthought, "She cheated me out of a full ten Louis." Which was true and extremely annoying, as he had wished to be paid for the inconvenience of waiting around for the perfect opportunity to abduct Maurice. But it was somewhat irrelevant compared to the sense of powerlessness and shame burning within him. His lip curled as he thought of Genevieve's dismissal, before they had left for the castle. In broad daylight, surrounded by all her admirers, she made it clear that she thought of him like vermin. She had laughed at him and dismissed him as an ugly old man. She had made him feel a fool.

Compared to that, the loss of a little extra income was nothing.

Ger's eyes widened. In his eyes, ten louis was a princely sum and he had no idea where Genevieve could have produced that kind of money. Evidently, she could not, as she had cheated Monsieur D'Arque. Ger personally thought he would not have had the courage to do that.

"I do not care about this Beast of yours," D'Arque was saying with a fastidious sigh, "But I will not have it be said that I do not honor my word, whatever others in this town may choose to do." The words he was choosing not to say rang quite clearly in the air. He wished to see Genevieve punished for her betrayal and was relying on Ger to do the job.

Ger hid a shudder. "Is that all?"

D'Arque smiled grimly. "More or less. To be brutally frank, Monsieur Ger, I also think that you would have made an extremely unpleasant patient. You are young, quick-witted and can easily overpower me. There is a reason we do not put sane men in the asylum." And there is a reason I do not often offer to, D'Arque thought. They do not respond as I would wish to my kindhearted care.

"I am…oddly flattered," answered Ger. "And I will do my best to send Genevieve home before her plan can come to fruition, not for any reasons of vengeance, but because I cannot countenance what she has gone to do."

D'Arque gave Ger an oily smile. "Of course not," said D'Arque, pleased to have found such a convenient ally. He locked the door to the empty caravan. "I bid you good day and happy hunting, Monsieur Ger, Monsieur Dupont." He doffed his hat to both Ger and his father before snapping his fingers and bringing his two employees to heel. He sent them to get to work on the knots Ger had tied to the caravan before returning to the town tavern to await the return of Genevieve and her cohorts.

"Well," said Ger, going to the stable to watch as the caravan was untied and the nag was once again harnessed in, "That was unexpectedly and disgustingly fortuitous."

Maurice nodded. "I do wonder what possessed Genevieve to cheat him," he mused.

Ger snorted. "Because she thought she could. She thinks she can do anything, even slight a man like that." He shuddered slightly. "I would not wish to consider him an enemy." He paused. "Not that I'm altogether thrilled with having him as a friend, but it seems the lesser of two evils.

"Agreed," said Maurice. "There is still something off-putting about the man."

"I don't like him either," piped Chip.

Ger went to the stable to saddle Philippa while Maurice went back into the house to stock up on some provisions. Neither he nor Ger had eaten yet and he thought it would be a good idea to bring along some food for the journey. Luckily, there was still a loaf of bread, some hard cheese and a few apples in Ger's rucksack, so Maurice had very little to do, other than add another loaf from the cottage's cupboards and go to the well to fill a canteen.

"We have a problem," said Ger angrily, emerging from the stable as Maurice headed towards the well. "Philippa's gone."

"How is that possible?" Maurice gasped. "I thought you stabled her last night."

"I did," Ger answered with a grimace. "And her tack is missing as well."

Maurice tapped his finger thoughtfully against his chin. "Is it possible that someone borrowed her?" he said after a long moment.

"I think it's highly likely that someone decided they did not wish to walk to the castle and carry home their ill-gotten gains and decided to take advantage of our incarceration," answered Ger bitterly. "God, I hate this place!"

Maurice refrained from pointing out that Ger had never done much to make Molyneaux like him. "Well," he said, going to well to fill the canteen. "We'd best be off, then."

"There won't be enough time," Ger groaned. "Unless we steal a horse from-"

At his father's glare, Ger stopped. Maurice had extremely high standards of morality and honesty and, Ger had to admit, he was right to have them. It was too easy to start treating other people's property like it did not matter and then where were you?

Storming someone else's castle to kidnap people, apparently.

"No, you're right," he sighed. "I just wish there was something I could do! Half the town has gone to attack my friends and I can't even reach them to go and warn them!"

Maurice took Ger's hand. "We can only do our best, Ger. I doubt the entire town has gone on horseback, though. They're a large group and they'll be held to the pace of slowest walker."

"You're right. Oh, Papa, you're a genius!" said Ger. "We can certainly walk faster than that and because they're such a big group, we'll just track them and catch them up. Then, even if we don't reach the castle in time to warn them, we won't be too far behind and I'm sure they can use all the help they can get."

"That's my boy," said Maurice proudly.

"Besides," Ger said, swinging on his rucksack, "Alix will need me."

And they set off into the woods, following the large swath of trail cut by forty six travelers on their way to make their fortunes.

_**T.B.C.**_

A/N – I apologize, this chapter was almost entirely filler that had to be gotten out of the way to make sure that the plot could advance in a somewhat timely manner. But it is important, I promise.

Monsieur D'Arque is a…difficult character, as far as I can tell. His motivations are tough to get a handle on because, unlike Genevieve, I don't _like_ being inside his head. It makes me feel like I need a shower afterwards. In the original draft of this chapter, I actually completely left out any of his inner monologues, which was when I noticed that I have been doing that for the past few chapters because I really find him distasteful. Unfortunately, that would mean I would have to explain his take on matters in the author's notes and that's just bad form. So I went back and tried to write it in. I still don't like it, not because I think it's lousily written, but because he still creeps me out. I don't actually know how the negotiations for Maurice's incarceration took place and, like Ger, I don't want to.

But D'Arque mostly exists in the movie to have an "evil" villain around, someone who you can hate, unlike Gaston, who you love even as you love to hate him. He serves much the same purpose here, although he is creepy in a different way. But this is not the story of how running a lunatic asylum with people over whom you have absolute power and no other sane man in sight can turn your head. I don't think D'Arque is in the least bit justified for what he does, but I don't think he is evil for the sake of it either. I think there is something seriously wrong with him. Like so many other characters in this story, he cannot see past himself and his own desires to other people.

Historical notes – The common currency for the time is the Louis d'Or or the gold Louis. The denier is the copper coin, roughly equivalent to a penny. I think that's it for this chapter.

Second historical note, left over from last week. There was a point made in one of the comments about the use of the word b*tch, both in terms of fittingness for the story and historical accuracy. I take your point about the story (I don't fully agree, but I see where you're coming from), but the word has had the modern connotation of epithet applied to a woman since the late 16th century and would definitely have worked from a historical perspective.

Sorry, everyone else, for noting this here, but it's the only forum I have for responding to anonymous reviews.

Excitement will return next week, as will I. I look forward to hearing from you and your reactions to what you think of the story. You're all fantastic!

Damian


	20. The Mob Has Arrived

**Chapter 20**

The cavalcade of villagers left Molyneaux in high spirits, with Genevieve riding in front, her hair streaming behind her like a banner of war. They were bright, cheerful and passed the time by chatting about the wonderful additions to their homes and lives with which the castle would provide them. After an hour of travel, using the mirror to ensure that they were following the correct path, conversation began to wane and Genevieve was forced to tie back her hair before it began to accumulate twigs and leaves and make her look like a deranged dryad. By the second hour, the traditional expression of stoicism had overtaken a substantial number of the hearty travelers, who would occasionally grit their teeth or stumble over a root. The majority of Genevieve's band of boys had chosen to accompany her, as well as many of the older and more stoic men in the village, ostensibly to see to it that the boys did not get out of hand or become rowdy, but it was rather an open secret that they were just as interested in seeing what bounties the castle had to provide. The women mostly stayed behind. It was, after all what married women with the difficult tasks of running a household every day did. Perhaps some of them were jealous of Mademoiselle Avenant, with her horse and her hair and her ability to go gallivanting off whenever and wherever she pleased, but they did not speak of it. After all, as the fishmonger's wife said, if she could make good on these promises, they would all be living like "Queen Genevieve" and she was clearly a good girl, if a tad high-spirited, if she was willing to share this wealth with her friends in the town.

None of them bothered to think that Genevieve had no use for copper pots or axes that could cut wood on their own. She had no reason to want a laundry board that could scrub clothing by itself, for she never did her own laundry. The tavern scullery maids also served Monsieur Avenant and his daughter, and why would it occur to Genevieve to bring _them_ things to make their jobs easier? She barely even knew what those jobs were.

No, Genevieve may have been gracious to her fellow townsfolk, but it was a kindness born of indolence. She carefully guarded her treasures (despite the minor detail that they were hers only in her dreams) and, whenever they approached a long stretch of road, Genevieve would let the reins lie slack and give her attention over to studying the gowns and the jewels in the closets of the castle. They nearly missed at least two different turns, when she had been so busy watching the light twinkle off a diamond tiara that she had almost forgotten that she was on a horse and needed to tell it where to go.

It was the sort of thing that only an experienced horsewoman could do – forget her surroundings so much while perched atop an animals back – and so Genevieve merely laughed it off and her coterie laughed with her, as they always did. It was midday and, though the forest was shady, there was still light filtering in through the trees and the greenish sunlight only served to give everyone a strange, faelike cast to their features. But, then again, they were on a hunt for a Beast in an enchanted castle, so perhaps it was not all that out of place.

The hunt lasted longer than anyone had anticipated. They stopped for lunch after a while, already beginning to grumble, as they had anticipated arriving at their destination by now. Genevieve was growing impatient as well. She could easily ride on ahead and outdistance them all. She probably would, too, were it not for the fact that she did not relish meeting the Beast alone. Though it was a pathetic creature, it was a pathetic creature with claws and fangs that might not take kindly to visitors.

Genevieve dismounted and went to stretch her legs before partaking of the simple wayfarers lunch that had been placed in her saddlebags. She sat down on a rock, the mirror resting by her side, and took a bite of the cold meat.

Further off, the sounds of an argument were beginning to rise through the tree canopies and startle the birds.

"It's not fair," a voice was saying. "You've been riding the damn horse the entire time so far and it's my turn!"

"It was my idea to take her so I get to ride her," answered another, far more complacent voice.

"Yes, but she's pulling my cart!" protested the first.

"And you should be very grateful that I allowed you to hitch your cart to my horse."

The angrier voice snorted. "Your horse. You practically stole her from the Duponts-"

"I did not steal her," said the second voice sharply. "I just...seized an opportunity. After all, its not like those two madmen will have any use for her where they're going. If they ever get back, I'll be glad to return her, provided she hasn't died and been made into glue by that point."

Both men laughed, before the first reiterated his complaint about the current division of riding being unfair. But their voices were no longer quite so loud and the rustle of the wind through the trees drowned them out.

Refreshed and reinvigorated, they remounted their horses, reharnessed their carts or simply just stretched and set off again towards the castle.

No one noticed that their number had grown larger by two men and a teacup.

Ger had overheard the last few lines of the argument about poor Philippa, who was meandering along towards the back of the group and chewing at her bit in a contemplative manner. They weren't mistreating her, which was the only thing keeping Ger from knocking the farrier off her back and giving the man a black eye. And to think, he had allowed this thief to shoe Philippa and take care of her. Stupid man. It would serve him right when he found out he would have to drag that cart home on his own.

They were still trudging through the woods when dusk arrived, turning the forest into the sort of dank and gloomy place that instinctively brought out the worst in people. It was just dark enough that the men and horses shied at shadows, but light enough that everyone felt stupid for doing so and exacerbated the already foul mood.

Ger, who never seemed to do anything that the rest of the town did, was positively glowing. Maurice could have almost sworn that the gray and sometimes disturbingly wolf-shaped shadows turned tail and disappeared as Ger walked by, leaving a patch of ground illuminated by the scant rays of the setting sun that had the tenacity to battle their way through the branches.

Or maybe that was just his own imagination. He'd been watching Ger closely over the course of their trek through the woods, with a parent's fondness and worry. He forced himself not to draw any conclusions, at least not yet. One of the reasons he had become an inventor was his own impatience with the slow rate at which the world bettered itself. He had wanted to hasten that development along. Having a son, who had been determined to do everything and in his own time, if you please, had taught him a patience that he had never dreamed he could find.

He rather hoped this Beast had a similar tolerance.

It was full dark before they reached the castle gates. The men were tired, cold and bitterly angry at the castle for being so far away, the mirror for not finding a faster route and Ger for not warning them before they left that it would be so far away. Ger overheard their griping and just smiled to himself. He had not expected it to be this far either, but he at least had known that it was a three hour ride and expected to be in for a long haul.

Still, the entire group of forty men, seven women, nine horses, two carts, and a teacup were finally standing at the gates of the castle, trying to figure out how they were going to get in. Ger wished them luck, and slipped away from the group to sneak in over the garden wall. He left Chip and his father in the back of the group, having already warned them several times to stay out of sight and, once they were inside, try to get to Alix as soon as they could.

The castle was not quite in pandemonium, but it was nearing such a state. Every mobile object in the castle had been impressed into joining the search for Chip and even the few immovable pieces of furniture were doing their best to look around their domains for the little teacup or, more worryingly, shards of him. No one had seen him since the night before, which was odd as Chip was one of those people who tended to get noticed wherever he went and, if he was not immediately seen, quickly made sure that someone was aware of his presence.

Cogsworth and Lumeire had set out together to do a giant sweep of the entire castle, which was proving to be about as productive as one would have expected. Alix and Mrs. Potts were doing a far better job, but even they could not find anything.

Alix watched, a bit awed, as the teapot hopped around the castle, from the tower dungeons all the way down to the wine cellar, determinedly searching for her son. Mrs. Potts never seemed to panic, never appeared overwrought when she left a room and shook her head, having found neither Chip nor any sign he had ever been there. She just barreled on forward, like a small army encased in china, into the next room. She was indefatigable.

Alix, who did not have Mrs. Potts' desperate need to focus on the search to prevent the tempest of panic brewing inside her from spouting forth, found herself slipping away to the library. She wished Ger was there. Not that he would have been able to do much to help the situation, but it would have made her feel a bit better, just to know he was around. He might even have a good idea for how to find the little teacup.

Poor Chip. Alix hoped he was all right, though it seemed more and more likely that something must have happened to him. She slouched over to the library window, having already tried and actually failed to distract herself by reading a book. First Ger, then Chip. Who was going to walk away from her next?

It did seem a bit odd, now that she thought about it, that Chip had gone missing right after Ger had left. Was it possible that...but, no, Ger would not _do_ something like that. He would not have taken Chip with him, even accidentally. Unless he had not known.

A sudden image of Chip, fast asleep in the kitchens as Ger dashed in to grab a bag and somehow ended up with the little cup in there as well. He had been in such a rush, he might have just missed Chip entirely until they got home.

It was a comforting thought. Ger would take care of Chip...and it meant that he would have to come back to the castle, no matter what, if only for a moment. Alix grinned broadly and she rushed out of the room to go and tell Mrs. Potts that everything just might be okay after all.

She soon found that her planned speech, as well as the search for Chip and just about anything else going on in the castle, needed to be put on hiatus, for as she was passing through the main foyer on the way to the kitchens, she heard the clang of the giant, brass chimera with the ring in its mouth that served as the door knocker.

Alix jumped in surprise, then hurried to one of the windows at the front of the room. Infuriatingly, none of them looked out on the door. Alix spared a moment to curse the idiot who designed a castle where you had to open the door to find out who was on the other side of it before pressing her face against the lead paned glass of the windows and just managing to glimpse the tail end of a huddle of peasants.

"What in God's name," she began, before the loud clang reverberated once again through the castle. Cogsworth, as head of the household was technically the head butler (a position he had practically dispensed with after no one had come to the door for so many years), and so Alix was not surprised to find him clattering down the grand staircase towards the door.

She spun around and stood in front of him, glaring down. He cowered, a little, but not as much as he might have. "Your Grace," he said timidly. "I believe I heard the door and as it is, ahem, my job to open the door-"

"Cogsworth," Alix said, rubbing her forehead, "You have opened this door exactly three times in the past eight years and all three times have proved to be unmitigated disasters." She paused. "Well, perhaps the third was a mitigated disaster. I would, however, prefer not to tempt fate a fourth time."

Lumiere, who had coming haring down after Cogsworth and overheard the speech, found it difficult not to laugh, especially as Cogsworth sputtered that he had not opened the door for Ger's father, that had been entirely Lumiere's fault.

"Indeed," said Alix and Lumiere could have sworn that a quick smile flitted across his mistress's features. But it went by so swiftly, he could not be sure.

"In any event," she continued, "This door is not to be opened until we can determine who our latest visitors are and what they want."

That was the burning question in Alix's mind. It did not seem to be a coincidence to her that, twenty-four hours after Ger had...words like "abandoned" and "ran away" flitted through her brain, but Alix settled firmly on "left for a time," they were suddenly inundated with fresh faces. And yet, it seemed to entirely unlike Ger for him to direct his village towards the castle. He rarely spoke of his life there, but Alix had always gotten the impression that he had not been happy there. That he had been far happier with her.

Perhaps she had just been fooling herself. She wanted to think that Ger preferred to be cooped up here with her rather than living a full life out in the world. It made sense—who would want to stay here if they did not have to? Alix was, for a moment, bitterly jealous of Ger for being able to perform an act as simple as walking out the door.

Her thoughts were interrupted by a third clang, this one even louder than the previous two. Their visitors seemed determined, at least. And Alix was equally determined to find out what they were doing here.

"I'm going to try and see them from the second floor balcony," Alix said to her servants. "It should go without saying that you are not to open that door without my express permission."

"Of course, Your Grace," Lumiere and Cogsworth said, then glared at one another.

Alix opened the doors to the balcony as quietly as she could, decidedly uninterested in attracting the attention of the crowd outside her doors. She succeeded, padding noiselessly across the stone and blending in with the deep shadows that the castle's crenellations cast.

From her vantage point, she could see more of the villagers; she counted at least thirty of them. And Ger was not of their number. She leaned forward over the railing, figuring that anyone who saw her would probably just assume she was one of the castle's grotesques.

"The door is still not opening," piped a voice from below.

"I can see that, Laliene," replied another, more melodious tone, but there was a hint of agitation beneath the words.

"Shouldn't the doors open on their own?" asked another voice, this one sounding much deeper and clearly masculine. "If they're magic, that is."

A figure threw its hands in the air and, drawn by the motion, Alix focused on it. The figure, illuminated by the lanterns that some of the peasants were carrying, was oddly familiar. It took Alix a moment before she could place her as the girl who had paid the old man to imprison Maurice. Alix snarled silently—this whole mess was _her_ fault, then.

"Perhaps the monster ordered the doors to remain shut," the girl suggested. "It doesn't want us to get inside and claim our just dues."

Just dues? Alix wondered. What could she be talking about?

"That's immaterial," said another of the male voices. "If the doors won't open, we'll just have to batter them down.

"An excellent plan," agreed a new voice and, soon enough, the entire group had retreated to go and cut down the largest tree they could find. Shaken, Alix retreated back into the safety of her castle.

"The knocking has ceased," Cogsworth informed her.

"That's because they went to make a battering ram," Alix said curtly. Both Lumiere and Cogsworth's mouths dropped.

"But, why?" the maitre'd managed to sputter out.

"I couldn't tell," Alix answered. "Does it matter?"

"Well, what should we do?" Cogsworth asked. They both looked up at her, as if she had the answers.

She felt suddenly, horribly inadequate. She wished that Ger were here, for that matter, she wished that he'd never left. She wished she was the kind of person who knew what to do.

"What you think is best," she said in a strangled voice, before turning tail and racing up the stairs. She had had enough of coping and wanted to rip something to shreds.

Ger was, at that very moment, doing an excellent job at failing to climb a wall. He had forgotten just how high the garden wall was. And how smooth.

He had been trying to use a nearby tree to give himself the necessary height to reach the top when he heard the clop-clop of hooves. He let go of the branch he was holding and dropped awkwardly to the ground, trying to duck behind the tree before the approaching rider could see him.

"Ger." Maurice called, and Ger stuck his head out from behind the tree trunk and observed Maurice atop Philippa's back. The placid mare was still dragging the accursed cart that the farrier had attached to her, but she seemed more cheerful than she had been. Ger came over to say hello and she whuffled affectionately at him, blowing into his hair.

"How did you manage this?" Ger asked as Maurice dismounted and went to unhitch Philippa from the wagon.

"They just left her," said Maurice. "The castle doors won't open, so our comrades went off to find a tree they could use as a battering ram."

"They are not our comrades," Ger growled through gritted teeth. "Damn! I have got to get inside the castle."

He looked at his father, and then at Philippa, who had lowered her head to chew meditatively at the sparse foliage. He grinned and mounted her. She offered him a reproving look, but obeyed his nudges as he guided her to the wall. By himself, it was far too high for him to climb. But standing atop Philippa, his fingertips just skimmed the top edges of the wall.

He tensed his muscles and leapt. It would have been nice to take a running jump, but there was not exactly room on a horse's back for such niceties. He grabbed for the ledge atop the wall and managed to get his hands around it before gravity reasserted its power. He hung there, dangling from the wall like some large banner. Ger was determined, though, and he closed his eyes and hauled himself up onto the wall. It was one of the least graceful maneuvers he had ever made in his life, but it brought him over the wall.

"Be careful," Maurice called, finding himself left behind once again as Ger entered into the Beast's domain. "I hope you know what you're doing," he added quietly. There was no use in trying to talk to Ger at this point; his son was far too intent on the task he had set for himself.

Ger dropped down as lightly as he could, landing jarringly, but without actually breaking anything. He set off for the castle at a run, determined to warn Alix and the other inhabitants of the approaching invasion. He was not sure what good that would do, but he felt as though he had to do _something_ and there did not seem to be anything else to do. He hoped this would be enough.

_**T.B.C.**_

A/N – The original plot seems to have wandered off somewhere. If anyone sees it, do let me know. Back in the beginning, I used to use the author's notes to explain why I was making the deviations I was making from the original story. I'm not really doing that anymore because the story has taken over and has really begun to decide, on its own, what happens. Which is fun, if a bit disconcerting.

I apologize for the delay with this chapter – my husband and I are (finally) taking our honeymoon, (Yes, we've only been married 13 months so far, not too delayed) so I'm a little abroad at the moment and internet is chancy. I just happened to be in a café with access today. I also apologize to anyone whose review I somehow managed not to answer, once again I blame our hotel for charging for internet. On the other hand, the rest of the trip has been amazing so far (and, really, I'm not complaining about two weeks in a hotel).

Thank you all for reading and reviewing and for all the people who have been favoriting this story recently (inventing verbs is my specialty) – I really appreciate it and I hope I continue to live up to expectations. As always, I value anything that you have to say and look forward to hearing from you about what you think and your impressions. Feedback might not make me write faster, but it makes me a better writer and I appreciate it beyond imagining.

Damian


	21. The Best Laid Plans

**Chapter 21**

_The Best Laid Plans..._

Genevieve was lucky in her choice of followers. Almost all of the boys and younger men who had come along had thought to bring what weapons they had, just in case. For a few, that meant their guns, but for those who neither owned a gun nor could borrow one from their fathers', the weapon of choice was an ax. They found a good-sized tree and set to work at it with a will. Though only two of them could work at a time, they were all so eager to be helpful that they each took turns landing their ax-blows and, long before any one man could become tired, the tree began to wobble. The whole affair had taken all of fifteen minutes.

The tree fell with a satisfying thud that resounded throughout the forest. Genevieve smiled grimly, hoping that the castle's inhabitant had heard the sound and was afraid. She did not know how the Beast was keeping the doors shut, but she was extremely displeased to find her will thwarted and would, under no circumstances, allow a stupid, ugly ball of fur to best her in any way. In her deepest heart, she was already mortified at how Ger had chosen that hideous creature over her, had chosen to try and protect it. The man was insane and deserved to be locked up in an asylum.

Or so she kept repeating to herself. She was well aware that imprisoning him was the only triumph she had left over him, having failed to secure either his admiration or his aid. She hated him bitterly for having refused her and knew that the sweetest moment of her victory would be when she rode to the Maison des Lunes, dressed as only a princess could dress in the finest of silks, with the diamond tiara on her head and with a cloak made from the fur of the Beast draped around her shoulders. He would be dearly punished for refusing her.

She had not told anyone of her plans for the Beast just yet. It would be best to allow its death to play out naturally. In Genevieve's mind, they would break down the doors to the castle and immediately find themselves face to face with the monster. There would be a short battle, one that ended with the Beast dead on the floor at their feet and the villagers free to loot the castle as they saw fit. There was no reason for her to even give them directions; it would be better for all involved if they took their initiative at this point. Genevieve was relying on everyone being excited enough at the prospect of easy wealth that they would not hesitate to kill the Beast. After all, why should they?

With so many people willing and eager to help out, the trunk was soon stripped of its branches and hefted onto broad shoulders.

Genevieve stood to one side and crossed her arms over her chest, content to watch as her army did her bidding. She was, quite possibly, the perfect general, able to command her forces without even speaking her orders.

Behind her stood Laliene and the other five women, unconsciously mimicking Genevieve's pose as they watched the men with expressions ranging from guarded approval to open admiration. Muscles strained, men grunted and, at the command of Jean-Luc, they charged forward and brought the battering ram up hard against the strong, oaken doors of the Chateau du Lac. They shuddered, but did not open.

The men drew back for a second assault.

* * *

Ger had made his way through the slightly overgrown walkways into the vegetable garden and, from there, into the castle kitchens. The door was unlocked and the kitchen was empty, except for the large oven who sat fuming in the corner.

He turned in confusion as he saw the door open and was about to bellow, when he recognized who the intruder was.

"Monsieur Ger!" he shouted in almost as loud a voice as he had been about to scream in. "You're back!"

"I've come to warn you," Ger said immediately. "There is a mob trying to break into the castle and kidnap you all."

The oven fumed. "So that's their evil plan. How dare they!" he roared, sending up a great gout of flame that made Ger leap back. "You must stop them!"

"I plan to," Ger answered. "Where's Alix?"

The oven suddenly looked a bit shifty. "I'm not sure. I think there's a council of sorts going on in the large dining hall. I wanted to attend, but I can't because I'm bolted to the floor!" He sent up another flare.

"I'll go and look for her, then," said Ger, a bit relieved to escape from the danger of singed eyebrows. "And don't worry, we'll stop them." He beat a hasty retreat, stopping only to say "If anyone tries to come in this way, do whatever you can to stop them."

"I'll burn them to a crisp," the oven promised gleefully and Ger was gone.

Alix was not in the dining hall, but almost every other movable object in the castle was. Ger could understand why they had chosen to hold this meeting in this particular room – he doubted that any other could have held so many people within it.

Lumiere was standing on the table as if it was a stage. "We must fight to defend ourselves," he was saying in a brave and only slightly trembling voice. "If those villains wish to storm our castle, do they think we will not fully oppose them?"

The objects looked around fearfully. They had been rallied swiftly to this room, gathered up with strange speeches about danger and invaders. And now Lumiere was asking them to fight? Fight who? Fight how?

There was a sudden, loud crash that rattled the windowpanes and made everyone jump.

"What was that?" Cogsworth demanded fearfully, and his question was echoed throughout the ranks of the objects.

"That was the sound of a falling tree," Ger answered, his voice pitched to carry. It was a familiar sound to someone who had spent the last two years chopping his own wood. All the faces in the room, even those hidden in the grains of wood or the fabric of a pillow, turned towards Ger.

"Monsieur Ger!" chorused Lumiere and Cogsworth. "You've come back!"

"You're all in grave danger," said Ger, striding to the table and pressing his palms flat against it as he leaned forward. "The villagers have stolen the magic mirror and found out about you. They wish to kidnap you to live in their houses and work for them or sell you at fairs for a profit."

The objects gasped in horror.

Cogsworth gasped. "Those unspeakable...rascals!"

Lumiere said something much worse, but at least it was under his breath.

"What must we do?" asked Babette, swishing over to Ger and gazing up at him.

Ger looked at all those faces, which were now fixed on his own. He gulped. He wanted to continue his search for Alix—he would feel better if he knew where she was and that she was safe. Actually, he would feel best if he knew where she was so that he could protect her. He had seen the look on Genevieve's face and knew that, out of anyone, she was in the most danger of being killed.

He would rather die than allow any of them to harm her.

On the other hand, he found himself thinking, perhaps he could protect her after all. He was standing here with a veritable army of people who could use their own bodies as weapons. The townsfolk did not seem to understand that the objects were not just mobile, they were also sentient and could respond to threat. They could defend themselves.

Ger closed his eyes and, feeling horribly guilty at the choice he was making, opened them again. "We need to defend ourselves," he said. "There are only forty of them and over one hundred of us."

"But they're bigger," objected a soup tureen.

"But they're not expecting us to fight," Ger countered. "They're going to try and grab you, but they will not be waiting for you to clang your lid down on their fingers. They don't understand that you're people."

The objects looked at each other, puzzled and hurt. They were people, weren't they? _ Weren't they?_

"So we'll use that to our advantage," Ger continued, a bit oblivious to the atmosphere in the room. "We'll teach them a lesson about making stupid assumptions."

Lumiere nodded his head vehemently in agreement. "Mais oui," he said, flourishing his candlesticks. "We will be brave and strong, we will not go down without a fight. Centuries from now, they will be singing our praises of how we faced down the most fearsome of enemies."

Ger couldn't help but snicker. "I'm not sure if it will go _that_ far," he said. "Remember, they are simple peasants and we far outnumber them. All we need is a little organization."

Ger had never plotted out a battle before and, to be perfectly honest, was not quite up to the task of doing so right now. Fortunately, Cogsworth had a perfect genius for creating battalions of servitors to clean rooms and serve the household and, as soon as he wrapped his head around the idea of hindering guests rather than helping them, proved to be absolutely indispensible.

They had a mere ten minutes before they heard the first shuddering thud of the fallen tree against the castle doors.

"That's the signal," said Cogsworth, who had somehow managed to turn up a General's cockaded hat and was wearing it at a rakish angle atop his clockwork head. Ger had no idea where he had found the thing or when, since the clock had been directing his fellow servants non-stop. Perhaps he had delegated someone to find it.

"You all know what to do, right?" He eyed them all with an eagle eye. The objects nodded, heartened by Cogsworth's obvious enthusiasm for the task at hand. They split up into three flanks, divided primarily by size. The smallest objects, like cups, forks, spoons, hairbrushes and their ilk, were the rearguard. They hung back in the hallways and sitting rooms to ambush anyone who made it that far into the castle. The largest objects were slightly in front of them, waiting behind doors and by entrances to leap out at any of the invaders who would try to get further into the castle. The plan was to seal them off in the main entry hall and force them back out through the front door. As Lumiere pointed out, if they had to roam through the castle to find all the invaders, the Lord only knew how long they would be at the task. They could not cede any ground, they needed to oust them before they even got a foothold.

Ger agreed; the most important part was making sure that every last villager was accounted for. The second most important was making sure that no one managed to snatch up a stray silver spoon or gold-rimmed saucer. That was why the littlest objects were placed so far back—they were too vulnerable.

It would be up to the vanguard, led by Lumiere and Cogsworth who were currently putting their neverending rivalry to good use as they did their best to come up with the best possible plan of attack, to drive their enemy out the door and convince them that they would not be taking the castle or its inhabitants.

Lumiere and Cogsworth were the smallest of the vanguard, made up of brooms, mops, end tables, chairs, trunks, a carpet or two, soup tureens, an entire horn section, several serving pieces, toasting forks, tongs, an axe, and a frying pan larger than Ger's head, to name only a few. They were a ragtag bunch and did not even have uniforms, but Ger could see that they were an army.

They heard the low thud of a battering ram slamming against the doors of the castle. "Dismissed!" bellowed Cogsworth (which was certainly recognizable as a bellow, even if it was a bit on the high and squeaky side). "Go to your positions!"

Ger watched at they marched off; almost wishing he could join them in the defense. The castle was his home too, far more of a home than the village had ever been. Also, he felt useless remaining behind. He knew that the role he was to play would only be necessary if everything went wrong in the main battle and so he remained in the kitchens, with all the small and fragile objects who needed protection. He was the absolute last line of defense—him and the oven and the knife-blocks. When they had been forming ranks, the knives had first stood with the vanguard, arguing that they might have been small, but they were powerful.

That was when Ger got scared and it finally dawned on him what they were doing. He had used the term war, but he hadn't really meant it. "Absolutely not," he said, his voice tight. It was all, suddenly, going too far. "We don't want anyone to get killed."

"But they're going to kidnap us!" one of the knives clanged angrily. "We should be allowed to defend our home too."

"Monsieur Ger is right," said Lumiere. "The last thing we wish for is bloodshed. The candelabrum looked pale, not that Ger could really tell. The knives glared angrily. "Unless, of course, you wish to be responsible for the widows and orphans these men left at home."

"They are fools," said Ger, "But they are not evil. They simply don't know any better. We will teach them, but we will not harm them, is that clear?"

There was a wave of assent, some half-hearted and some heartfelt. But they listened. And Ger watched carefully to make sure that all of the knives were where they were supposed to be.

He wondered, for the first time, what would happen if a china plate shattered or a wooden broom handle snapped. Would they die? Were they alive to begin with?

"I'm sorry," he said to one of the china cups, who was bouncing around the kitchen, all fired up with energy and completely lacking any forum through which to express it. The cup either did not hear him or simply did not listen. "I'm sorry any of this had to happen." If he had just snuck in and freed his father without alerting anyone, this never would have happened. Ger pulled a face. No, he'd had to go try to reason with his neighbors. He'd had to try and do everything in as large and loud a way as possible. He hung his head in his hands. Why were people so stupid?

And he included himself in that broad statement—he had been just irresponsible as everyone else and now look at where it had gotten him!

"What is this behavior?" exclaimed a familiar, motherly voice from behind Ger. He turned around to see Mrs. Potts glaring angrily at the little teacup. "I will not have you dancing around like a performing monkey when the castle is under attack. You will sit down and keep quiet or you will go to your cupboard."

"Yes Ma'am," the cup said meekly and hopped over to hide behind one of the knife blocks.

"Mrs. Potts," said Ger happily, turning to face her and sitting down so he was level with her perch at the kitchen table.

"Ger," she said warmly, "Welcome back!" He was sure she would have hugged him had she had the arms. "It is good to see you again."

Ger smiled. "It's good to be home," he agreed. "I'm only sorry it could not be under better circumstances. I assume you've heard about our current situation?"

Mrs. Potts nodded. "Babette came to inform me. I was looking for Chip and I hoped he had the sense to come-"

Ger clapped his hands to his mouth. He had completely forgotten. "I'm so sorry, Mrs. Potts," he interrupted. "I should have told you immediately. Chip is with my father, outside the castle gates."

Mrs. Potts stared at him. "But, how is that-"

"He hid in my rucksack when I left last night," Ger explained. Had it only been twenty-four hours since he'd been dancing under a chandelier with Alix? It felt like weeks. "I discovered him when I got home."

Mrs. Potts did not know whether to laugh or cry. "That foolish boy," she said, shaking her head and blinking away a tear or two. Ger handed her a napkin that volunteered for the job. "What in heaven's name could he have been thinking?"

"Umm, I believe he wanted to make sure that I would come back," Ger offered. "It was very sweet of him if wholly unnecessary...and completely irresponsible."

"Quite," Mrs. Potts said with a sniffle. "He and I are going to have a nice chat about that when I see him again." Ger gulped. He would not want to be in Chip's shoes when the little teacup's mother got her hands on him.

"But did he really think I would not return?" Ger found himself asking. He had been puzzled by Chip's comment the night before, but had not had the time to dwell on it then, or any other time since. "You didn't doubt me, Mrs. Potts, did you?"

"No," she answered honestly, "I didn't."

Ger heard the inflection on the word "I" and, after a moment, it dawned on his who probably did. "Alix," he breathed softly. "But...I told her I would come back. Doesn't she realize..." He trailed off, not sure what lay at the end of that path.

Mrs. Potts hid a smile. "Perhaps you should go up and see her."

"But I have to stay down here," Ger protested. "I promised Lumiere and Cogsworth that I would stand guard and I wouldn't want to leave you alone for the attack."

"Someone needs to warn her Grace," Mrs. Potts said.

"She doesn't know?" Ger nearly gasped. "But I thought Lumiere said-"

"She knows about the attack," Mrs. Potts answered. "She doesn't know about our planned defense."

"And if she comes down in the middle, the villagers will kill her," Ger said, his heart thumping painfully in his chest. There was no way on God's green earth he would allow that to happen.

"You must go up and warn her," said the teakettle decisively. "I'll stay down here and keep an eye on things." She turned her gaze on the other members of the kitchen all of whom, even the stove, cowered just a tad.

Ger smiled and was about to race out the door when an almighty crash shook the castle.

"They must have breached the doors!" shouted one of the knives excitedly. The others nodded in agreement.

"Damn!" Ger swore. He could not go out in the midst of the battle. If the men from Molyneaux saw him here, he would be in as much danger as Alix. He slammed his fist against the door.

"Take the servant's stair," Mrs. Potts called, pointing towards a small door near the scullery. "It will take you to the rooms on the second floor. If you keep heading West, you'll end up in her Grace's suite."

Ger was through the door and out of the kitchen in a flash, forgetting everything but the need to get to Alix and reassure that everything would be fine. That he would _make sure_ everything would be fine.

His feet pounded up the stairs and he found himself in a warren of unfamiliar passages that had been built to allow the serving staff to move unseen throughout the castle. They were small, close hallways that made Ger feel trapped and just a little bit like he was back in D'Arque's caravan. He took a deep breath and steeled himself. He had a mission. He strode forward, remembering Mrs. Potts' hasty directions and praying he would not get lost.

* * *

Genevieve could barely restrain her cheers as the castle door shuddered one last time and finally splintered open under the force of their blows. The men groaned with relief and dropped their makeshift battering ram as swiftly as they had dared. That first attack had taken them far longer than they had expected and they were now tired and in a foul mood.

Their first glimpse of the castle more than made up for it, however. The late afternoon light filtered into the cavernous stone halls of the Chateau du Lac. They stood before a long, red carpet that flowed over the floor and up the stairs, leading deeper into the castle. The hall itself consisted of rows of stone arches, each one packed with all sorts of bric-a-brac. Candles, chairs, tables, even a dresser or two seemed stacked higgledy-piggledy in every niche in the room.

Genevieve, along with her companions, peered around in the gloom. There was a treasure trove here—mirrors larger than she had ever seen, chests and chairs worked in precious metals, even a few musical instruments.

"Well?" Genevieve said, glaring around. "What are you all waiting for? Get me a light and we'll begin our explorations."

Laliene, always ready to oblige, reached for a three-armed candelabrum, while saying "But Genevieve," in a rather plaintive voice, "I thought you said the objects were going to move."

"Now!" shouted the candelabrum, bursting into flames in Laliene's hand. She dropped it with a small squeak and ran to hide behind Genevieve.

The villagers stared open-mouthed as every single piece of furniture in the room came to life and descended on them. The battle was on.

_**T.B.C.**_

And we _still_ haven't gotten to the actual fight. I think this story does not want to end. Or I think I don't know how it ends yet and am subconsciously stalling for time. Or maybe, just maybe, this really needs to be as long as it is. Who knows?

But the end is drawing near, only three to four more chapters after this one. And, if all goes well, I should be back to once a week updates, now that I'm back home and no longer jetlagged.

Fingers crossed.


	22. Gang Aft Aglay

**Chapter 22**

_Gang Aft Aglay_

It took a moment or two before the villagers could actually comprehend what had happened to them. True, they had been expecting the objects to be _capable_ of movement, but they had somehow neglected to equate movement with independent thoughts and actions. The candelabrum that had been dropped from Laliene's hand rolled along the ground for a moment before righting itself at the butcher's feet and relighting itself in an attempt to set fire to the man's apron. He leapt back in shock, before regaining his presence of mind and swooping forward to grab the recalcitrant candle. His hand closed on this air, as Lumiere hopped nimbly away, ducking behind a coat rack...a coat rack with a mean punch that sent the butcher reeling. It was exactly like being hit in the jaw by a wooden stick.

Most of the poor villagers fared much the same. Cogsworth surveyed his army with a satisfied smile and his mustache ticking cheerfully. In one corner, Gustave the mop had wrapped himself around some fellow's head and was dragging him backwards out the large doors of the castle. In another corner, several of the pans were gleefully clanging themselves together as two youths tried and failed to grab hold of their handles. All they managed to do was bruise their fingers and their egos. It seemed, though, that Leonard, who had been one of the palace porters and built like a tree trunk, was having the best time. Despite having no legs, he was bounding around the castle halls, his lid hanging open and the latch meant to secure said lid to the rest of the wooden chest clattering with every leap. He would pounce on the men and send his lid crashing down before trundling away, carrying his burden, which inevitably protested, and dumping them unceremoniously outside, where any number of them found themselves quite willing to stay for the time being. They had not signed up for this!

The ones who remained inside, and had succeeded in defending themselves against that first bizarre onslaught, saw things a bit differently. They were now at war, having been attacked by an army, and they were going to show these magical objects who was boss. After all, what kind of world was it in which a broom could sweep up a man? Such things were not to be borne! The place of things was in the hands of human beings and they were going to make sure these objects learned that.

"Onward!" shouted the farrier, managing to grab hold of a curtain rod, swinging it menacingly in the direction of the oncoming drawers. The rod itself twisted and writhed, trying to free itself, but its captor caught hold of its other end as well, immobilizing it and turning it into a rather effective staff, all things considered. Nearby, one of the older boys had wisely decided that trying to use these objects was a fool's errand until the battle was over and had drawn his own gun. He had already shot the stuffing out of one pillow and was advancing on a complete set of bedding, which had been trying to sneak up on him and tie him up and was now thinking better of that idea.

The villagers were outnumbered and their ranks had shrunk to half their earlier size, but they were filled with new determination and had one large advantage over their enemies. They did not understand that the objects they were fighting were people.

The townsmen were slowly coming together in the center of the room, those, at least, who could break free from their own, small battles. Some of them had barely managed to scrape out with their dignity intact, while others, luckier ones, had succeeded in capturing some of them enemy and turning them into tools of their own side's destruction.

"Regroup!" shouted Cogsworth. "We must rescue the prisoners!" He was, of course, referring to the three pans, two end tables, one lamp and four cleaning implements that were being raised menacingly by the mob. That was not the worst of it, though. A young boy, barely more than fourteen, had been holding an axe with which he was trying to defend himself. A stool had foolishly gone after him anyway and it was now limping back in retreat on two legs, its severed limb lying on the ground at the boy's feet. The stool hung its head as Lumiere yelled at it for taking such a risk. It was the first casualty of the battle, but was not the last.

Lumiere nearly became one as well. He had been trying to herd some of their more reluctant guests out the door by sending little gusts of flame at them. They had had their weapons knocked out of their hands by some very enterprising beer steins who had leapt out and clamped down on their fingers. The men were now reduced to using whatever wooden implements they could find, including pieces of tables or chairs. Lumiere felt as though he would be sick to his stomach (though he did not know whether he even had a stomach) and was ready to teach these scoundrels a lesson they would never forget.

He moved forward cautiously, using the nearest column for cover. Once the men's back were turned, he darted forward, flinging himself at the nearest article of clothing, which happened to be a cloak and waited breathlessly for it to catch. The wool began to smoke and smell, alerting the men to the presence of their small yet dangerous attacker. The quickest thinking of the men snatched the cloak off of his companion and pulled it down on top of Lumiere, smothering him with the heavy fabric. His flames went out almost immediately, and he found himself struggling against his enemy with nothing but his waxen arms.

"What shall we do with it?" the man holding the cloak asked. The others eyed the bundle warily.

"Bring it home and throw it in the stream," one man suggested.

"Set him on fire," called the one whose cloak it was. "The damn thing deserves it!"

But the man who had captured Lumiere had a better idea.

Lumiere struggled valiantly against his prison, fighting to exploit any weakness in their hold on him. He finally found one, and flung himself at out of the cloak's confines with all his might, readying himself for battle as he did so. He lit his hands as high as they would go and took aim for where he judged his attackers to be. His attackers were not there, though. They had flung Lumiere into a pile of brooms and mops who had been defending one of the halls and the dry straw of the brooms' feet caught fire immediately.

Lumiere was the only one among them who could shout, as the brooms swept frantically, trying to put themselves out. The villagers grabbed the distracted sticks, now burning like torches, and held them aloft, occasionally stabbing them in the direction of any poor, inflammable object that came their way.

"Get the buckets!" Lumiere cried out. His shout got the attention of anyone not already riveted to the scene and, more importantly, it galvanized every object that could hold water into action. They dashed outside, where rain was already beginning to fall, and filled themselves as high as they could go before mounting the counter-attack.

The villagers who were waiting outside had distanced themselves beyond the gates of the castle. When they saw this outpouring of their enemies, they turned tail completely and dashed off into the woods. Almost all of the women joined them in their pelting retreat. Laliene, however, could not run off without Genevieve and her idol was still inside the castle. She stood at the gates, torn between loyalty to her friend and abject terror. Loyalty won, just a bit, and she found herself standing her ground, slowly inching her way back towards the great wooden doors so that she could go inside and find Genevieve.

* * *

As soon as the first assault had taken place, Genevieve wisely decided to leave the fighting to someone else and slipped away up the stairs. She went unnoticed by the objects, who were too busy defending against the men with actual weapons to notice the dark shape of a cloaked woman flitting through the shadows and up into the castle. Genevieve had only one goal—to find the castle's store of gowns and jewelry. Using the mirror as her guide, she did not even need to search for it. Up the stairs, down the hall, a left turn at that hideous statue (although all the statues in this castle seemed to be uniformly hideous), through a set of doors, up yet another flight of stairs, a right at the top and she found herself staring at the horned heads of the door-handles that would, she hoped, lead her into the room with the extensive closet and the expensive gem boxes.

She pushed the door open and stared into the gloom of the room in front of her.

The glittering eyes of the Beast stared back at her.

Alix had not exactly been startled when she heard the creaking of the door behind her. In fact, she had expected to be visited by one or other of her servants long before now. She was not sure why—after running off and abandoning them in such an ignoble manner, they were right not to bother with coming to ask her help. What good could she do them? She had let them down.

She _was_ surprised to find the figure of a human being standing in her door and even more surprised when she recognized her.

"You!" said Alix and Genevieve at the same time.

"Get out," said Alix.

"So _this_ is the famous Beast," said Genevieve, momentarily unnerved and grasping for what reassurance she could find, even if it was only the sound of her own calm voice.

Alix rose to her feet. "I told you to get out." If Genevieve's voice had been calm and cool, Alix's tone was as slow and cold as ice.

Genevieve stared at her with a measured gaze, behind which she was nearly screaming in terror. This had _not_ been part of her plan! The Beast was supposed to be downstairs, facing off against her army, while she helped herself to the best riches this place had to offer. It wasn't her job to fight beasts!

It was not as though she could turn tail, so to speak, and leave. The monster would be after her in a heartbeat. And if it wasn't, then it would surely run away and find a new hiding spot. She needed this damn creature out of her way! Of all the times to be missing her entourage, this had to be the worst.

Alix stared frankly at Genevieve. God, the woman was even more beautiful in person. Perfect hair, skin, eyes, figure. Even if Alix was human, she could never compete with this kind of beauty.

She closed her eyes—and what did Ger think of this lovely visage who had occasioned such anger in him before he had left? Why was she here? Alix looked closely at the figure and spotted something she should have noticed immediately.

"Before you go," she said, purposely dropping her voice into the growl that had come so naturally to her before Ger had stumbled into her life, "I would appreciate it if you returned my property."

Genevieve blinked in surprise. What could the monster mean; she had not even found her jewel stash yet. It took her a moment to recognize where those terrifyingly human-like eyes were looking, but when she did, a small smile flitted across her face. Perhaps she did have a weapon after all.

"You mean this?" she said, holding up the mirror. "Ahh, yes, Ger did mention that you might want it back."

"Where is he?" Alix hissed, startled into response by hearing his name.

Genevieve's smile widened just a bit. "Who, Ger? He thought it would be a better idea not to come back. Make it easier on everyone, you know." Careful, Genevieve told herself. Don't say too much yet. Let her answers tell you what to say. It's no different than playing those foolish little boys at home.

Alix just looked at her.

"After all, he'd just escaped from your imprisonment," she said, "What sense would it make to voluntarily go back?"

"What are you talking about?" Alix snarled.

"Ger, of course. After he came back, he told us all about this castle. A magical place, he said, filled with wonders beyond our imagination. Of course there was one small problem. It was ruled over by a monster. Ger didn't dare to take you on alone, so he gathered an army together to-"

"Get out!" Alix screamed, interrupting Genevieve's flowing speech.

Interesting, Genevieve noted with an odd detachment. A small part of her mind was still gibbering in terror, but she had mostly passed beyond that into a surprisingly calm analysis of the situation. It still hasn't come at me. I wonder why that is.

At this point, Alix was rather wondering that herself, why she didn't just fling herself at this horrible woman and be done with it?

And yet how could she? That little voice inside of her, that sometimes spoke with the long-forgotten tones of her parents, but other times sounded in Ger's warm baritone, reminded her that she was not a Beast, she was a woman, just like this one. That she should know better than to try and harm another human being. That she was not a mindless animal that attacks where it will.

"Ger said you would be angry," Genevieve said in a soothing voice. "He was afraid of what you would do when you found out he wasn't coming back."

Alix shook her head and flexed her claws. "He promised," she said, not meaning to speak the words aloud, but also unable to help herself.

Genevieve overhead. "My dear," she said, forcing the endearment out though it stuck in her throat to pretend kindness to this...thing, "He lied."

Alix turned away from Genevieve, unwilling or perhaps unable to listen anymore.

"I am sorry," Genevieve said in a tone that rang like crystal and grated on Alix like sandpaper, "But you must have known this was coming."

And that was the worst part. As soon as Alix heard those words, she realized that, deep down, she _had_ known. She had known since she had recognized the mirror in the woman's hand that Ger was not coming back. She had just been fighting off the realization, but she knew better. What was the point of attacking the woman—much as Alix wanted to drag her claws across that lovely face and mar that perfect skin, it would not win Ger. Who was she to compete with such beauty?

She clutched vainly at remembered hope, from a yesterday when she had been willing to pretend to trust Ger...

No, not pretend, she corrected herself. For that magical evening, she had really believed in him, believed every word the man had said. Even when he'd called her beautiful. It was just so hard now, when he wasn't here, to hold on to that faith. So hard not to push him away immediately and cauterize the wound his absence left. She had believed in him once. Without him here to defend himself, should she doubt him now?

Alix shoved the hurt, betrayed eleven-year-old girl aside who would never trust again aside and tried to be rational.

"He promised," Alix repeated, more insistence than protest.

"You deluded little fool," Genevieve snapped. "Do you honestly think he would want to spend the rest of his life locked up here with a Beast?"

Well, Alix found herself thinking a little dizzily, he was pretty insistent on that point when he asked to stay and then spent two weeks here of his own accord. Maybe...just maybe he does. She looked up, meeting Genevieve's wide, innocent eyes.

"No man with any sense in his head could possibly choose you over me," Genevieve continued, her voice not quite so polished anymore under Alix's fierce gaze. Alix remembered the look of disgust on Ger's face when she had mentioned Genevieve's involvement. No, this woman was definitely lying about Ger. Alix was listening now, properly listening, and beginning to hear what it was that Genevieve was not saying and not just what she was. There was a slight edge of...something in the woman's voice that made Alix's heart jump in a funny little way.

Alix smiled. "And where is Ger now?" she asked again.

"He never wants to see you again," Genevieve spat. "That was why he gave me the mirror. He gave it to me." Her emphasis was not lost on Alix, nor her repetitiveness. Alix smiled ever so slightly. Genevieve was not the only one who could discomfit her audience when she chose.

"And why would he send you to come and talk to a monster he was too afraid to face himself?" Alix asked, tugging on the loose thread in Genevieve's hastily woven pack of lies. "Come to think of it, why would he send you if he cared for you at all?"

Genevieve opened her mouth, but not a sound came out. Alix, who was quite suddenly enjoying herself, advanced on her.

"Now, give me back my mirror and get out."

* * *

The tide in the battle was finally turning with the return of the buckets. The first wave had flung their contents and themselves at the villagers, dousing the flames and handing out some pretty heavy knocks to some pretty hard skulls. Even empty, those buckets were still quite heavy. The sudden deluge dampened more than just wood and cloaks, it also dampened spirits.

As the second wave of water came to the forefront, a full half of the company put down their weapons and bolted for the door. There were some things that men were just not meant to fight. It was not the unexpected bath that sent them running, but the realization accompanying it that these objects could not be stopped. They felt helpless, not because they were momentarily outmatched, but because they recognized that they were doomed to remain so.

They fled.

"Cowards!" shouted Lumiere, watching in satisfaction as they ran. There were now only five men left.

"Surrender!" shouted Cogsworth, standing precariously atop an end table that was galloping happily towards the center of the battle.

"Never!" came an answering shout from the small crowd of villagers.

Cogsworth stood with his hands on his hips, and glared at the man who had spoken. The man glared back, a bit unnerved to be having a staring match with a clock.

"Very well," said Cogsworth, rather enjoying his current post as general. "Lumiere," he said with a peremptory nod, "Would you do the honors?"

"With pleasure, mon ami," Lumiere answered. He motioned grandiosely and all the objects in the room, both big and small, intact and injured, advanced from all corners on the small knot of intruders.

There was nowhere to run and, now that there were so few of them, no way to fight. They tried swinging their axes and clubs, but the weapons just bounced off hard iron tools and, before long, the objects were pressed in too closely for the men to raise their arms.

"And now," Lumiere said with a sweep of his arms, "We dispose of this refuse."

The men were lifted onto couches and tied onto to chairs. They struggled mightily, but to little avail. They were well and truly trapped.

All except one, that is. The slender farrier had, through a great deal of squirming, managed to slip past his captors for a brief moment. A moment was all he needed as he hurtled away. He was dashing up the stairs, which was not his first choice for escape route, but it was the direction with the least objects and so it would have to serve.

He made it all the way up the second flight before running headlong into opposition.

Madame de la Grande Bouche had always disliked her new form, on principle, of course, but also because of how it limited her mobility. She had never been more resentful of it than during this battle, when she found herself waiting by the doors to her suite of rooms, listening to the fighting going on downstairs and wishing she could do her part in defending her home. Finally, she could take it no more, and, with a mighty shove, broke the doorframe and flung herself through the door and wall. It was a frightening, yet oddly liberating experience—she, who had always been so careful to take care of clothing and furniture and make sure everything looked perfect would never have considered causing this kind of damage.

She lumbered down towards the main hall, hoping that the battle was not yet over and that she could still do something. She was in luck. As she reached the main stair, the farrier, who was not looking ahead, crashed into her. It was through sheer luck that she happened to have her cupboard doors open (it seemed that they had an embarrassing tendency to flap when she ran), but it was excellent timing on her part that allowed her to slam them shut as soon as the man had tripped inside.

The objects downstairs not currently involved in transporting the other four villagers out the door cheered. Madame de la Grande Bouche smiled and blushed and waved ever so slightly. It was not easy to keep her balance, with the young man thrashing around, but she had her prisoner and she was going to escort him out of her home.

The end of the battle coincided with the victory parade as they marched the last of the intruders out of their castle and deposited them unceremoniously on the ground in front of the gates, mostly undamaged (although the farrier was now wearing a lovely sea-foam green gown, but some questions were perhaps better left unasked).

No one tried to return. There seemed to be an unspoken agreement among the group; that no one would ever speak about this night again. Ever.

The objects returned to the castle, leaving enough of the heavy articles to guard the doors, but otherwise they were too deliriously happy with their success to do much more than leap up and down and cheer. Lumiere planted a large kiss on Babette's lips and then turned to Cogsworth and repeated the procedure, though he did move the site of the kiss from lips to cheeks for the blustering clock, who was not amused.

In a moment or two, they would need to stop and figure out what to do with the wounded, but that could wait until the celebrations were over.

In the corner of the room, hidden behind one of the columns, Laliene stood waiting. Where was Genevieve?

* * *

The tension in Alix's room was palpable. Alix wished she could pounce on Genevieve and wrest the mirror from her grasp. Why didn't the stupid woman just give up and run? Why was she still standing here? And, more importantly, how could she tell that Alix was not going to attack?

Genevieve had mixed feelings about the monster as it turned the tables on her. True, she was more than a little scared, but she was angry. Nobody got the best of Genevieve Avenant, not even that idiot Ger currently locked in the cells of the Maison des Lunes. Genevieve smiled to think of that and felt her resolve strengthen as she reassessed her situation. She never ran from anything, especially not a monster like this. A monster with feelings, of all things. She had not misjudged the Beast, she was happy to see. It was not going to attack, not as long as Genevieve herself did not run away.

It was a strange creature, clearly viewing itself as human even so far as to wear clothes and look like a foolish mockery of the feminine form. But it had responded to her like a slighted lover and not like an animal, which was what gave Genevieve the courage to stand her ground. She had faced down angry women who were uglier than she was before, this was not new territory for her.

It was a switch in thinking, to see the Beast as both the monster she knew it to be and the woman it clearly thought that it was. But Genevieve had always prided herself on her ability to read people. She just had to find the right thing to say.

The deadlocked silence in the room seemed to stretch on into infinity and might have lasted that long had the door to the servants' staircase not slammed open. Both women swung around to find the source of the noise. Ger stepped into the room, looking dusty and bedraggled from what was a surprisingly long trek through the inner arteries of the castle.

"Oh," he said, very quietly, taking in the sight of Genevieve, whose jaw had dropped open, and Alix, whose face lit up in a smile that Ger thought was absolutely beautiful. "Sorry I'm late."

_**T.B.C.**_

A/N – I've reached the point where I have no idea what I want to say in the comments anymore. Other than that the battle takes on a whole new color when you try and turn it into prose. There's something ridiculous about it on film that comes across as tragic when I tried to write it. It's a battle! There are people getting hurt! How did I not notice that in the movie?

This isn't even a problem of retelling the story, more just a problem of telling the story in a completely different medium. One of those "medium is the message" things, which is a phrase that is true, to a degree, but also overstates its own importance.

Obviously, Alix and Genevieve are not going to fight like Gaston and the Beast. They are, however, going to battle this out in their own particular way. It's funny, these two characters have really driven the story for me, from the beginning, and this is the first time that they actually get to meet. And of course they yell at each other. Of course.

Only a few more chapters to go after this, so stay tuned. The end is nigh!


	23. Falling for You

**Chapter 23**

_Falling for You_

"Sorry I'm late," said Ger rather sheepishly, looking around from Alix to Genevieve and then back to Alix, who was the reason he had come up here in the first place.

"It's alright," Alix said, her voice a little higher and more startled than she would have quite liked. She could have laughed with relief. Ger was here! He came back for her! That being said, she wished she had enough control over her tone not to let him know that this came as a surprise to her.

"There was an incident with a madhouse and a madwoman, I'll tell you all about it later," Ger continued, walking forward so that he could stand next to Alix. He glanced at Genevieve, who was fuming.

How dare he! Genevieve fixed the pair of them with the angriest glare she could muster and wished that they would both burst into flames from the fury of her gaze. How dare Ger reappear and ruin all her plans _again_! She was so mad, she barely spared a though for how he had actually managed to escape from the asylum, fixating, rather, on how she could salvage what was rapidly becoming an unsalvageable situation. The nerve of the man, turning up here in support of a hairy monster instead of remaining where he belonged. Genevieve had disliked many people in her time, had even hated a few, but she had never felt the pure, unadulterated loathing that bubbled up inside of her when looked at Gervaise Dupont reaching out and holding hands with the Beast. Hand in claw, how sickeningly sweet.

Ger met Genevieve's bitter stare. "You monster," he said coldly. "You invade a lady's home, attempt to steal her possessions and murder her staff, and then have the gall to force your way into her chambers and...actually, I have no idea what you planning on doing in here, but it will be over my dead body."

Genevieve sneered. "I see no lady," she scoffed. "Only a half bear, half wolf horror in a dress."

"Alix is ten times the woman you will ever be," Ger snapped.

"Oh, in size and hair production, certainly," Genevieve answered. "But only a fool could ever delude himself into thinking that it is remotely attractive."

"You insufferable little whore-" Ger began, but ground to a halt as Alix untangled her hand from where it was still tightly grasped in Ger's and laid it on his shoulder.

"She's not worth it," Alix said very softly. She had been listening to the exchange with a carefully controlled expression that hid the giddy delight she was feeling. Ger had come back to her and now he was fighting valiantly to defend her honor. All he was missing was actual armor (and Alix was pretty sure that there was a suit of it in Ger's closet). But in listening to them, it suddenly dawned on Alix just how stupid the battle was. Now that Ger was here and making it very clear whose side he was on, there was no point in continuing to fight. Genevieve was powerless to hurt either of them.

Come to think of it, both she and Ger could pick the now defanged little snake up and throw her out the window should they wish to. It was an absurd battle.

"I...what?" Genevieve exclaimed. Ger turned towards Alix as well, a questioning look in her eyes.

"I appreciate your defense," Alix said, grinning, "But I think we've both wasted enough time on her for a lifetime."

Ger looked at Alix, then back at Genevieve, who was sputtering, then back at Alix, and burst into laughter. "You know," he said, "I think you're right." He paused. "But what about the mirror?"

Alix shrugged. "Let her keep it, if it means that much to her. I don't really need it anymore."

Genevieve stamped her foot in anguish. They were treating her, Genevieve Avenant, as if she was unimportant. Her mind spun, trying to think of something, anything, she could say to turn their attention away from each other. Sickening lovebirds. And yet how could Ger be in love with that walking rug? It was inconceivable.

"You know he doesn't really love you!" Genevieve shouted. "He's only pretending to so he can steal the castle for himself."

Alix rolled her eyes. Of course Ger didn't love her—he'd known her for all of three weeks and she'd been behaving horribly for at least two of them. And, quite frankly, given what the villagers seemed to be like, it came as no surprise to her that he would rather stay here in the castle that go back. She didn't want him to stay because she expected him to be in love with her, she just wanted him back because she loved him. Her life was better when he was around and that was enough. For now. She had some great plans for the future, though.

"Actually," Ger said, turning bright red and coughing as the impact of sudden realization hit him, "I—"

Genevieve, who recognized what Ger was about to say as soon as the first syllable of "actually" left his mouth, screamed. She had seen that stupid, besotted, puppy look on too many men's faces not to recognize it now. It was that moment when Genevieve truly lost it. Out of verbal weaponry, she raised the only projectile she had and flung the mirror at Ger's head.

"Ger!" Alix shouted and pushed him out of the way. The mirror struck her hard, in the shoulder and sent her tumbling backwards, knocking over the table behind her with a shattering crash.

Her shoulder hurt, almost as much as her hand, which she had flung out to stop her fall and had landed on shards of broken glass. Or perhaps had landed on glass that had shattered beneath the weight of her fall. She couldn't tell, it had happened so fast.

Ger, who had been thrown off balance by Alix, steadied himself before dropping to his knees at her side. "Are you alright?" he asked, holding out a hand to help her up, but then thinking better of the idea as she raised her left hand to look at the damage.

"Ow," Alix said with a wince and Ger concurred. The surface of her hand was sliced open in several places and, far more painfully, had at least two pieces of glass embedded into the pads of her paws. There may have been a few slivers as well, but it was those large shards that made Ger shudder. Alix closed her eyes, not wanting to see.

"Hold still," said Ger, taking her hand and cradling it in his own palm, using his fingers to keep her from moving. "This is going to hurt."

"Of course it is," Alix muttered, but kept her eyes shut tight and her hand in Ger's. As gently as he could, he grasped hold of the largest of the shards and drew it from her hand. Alix gasped in pain and fought the urge to clench her hand closed.

"That's one," he said soothingly. "Just one more." He hoped. He couldn't see any others, but, more importantly, would not be able to get them out even if he could.

The second one was harder—a smaller piece that was more deeply embedded. But it too came out.

"There," Ger said, tempted suddenly to press a kiss to her palm, but feeling as though the moment was definitely not right for it. Damn Genevieve and her truly awful timing.

Alix cradled her poor hand in her wrist. None of the wounds were bleeding heavily, but dear God did they hurt. At least it took attention away from the ache in her shoulder where the mirror had hit.

Her gaze fell on the mirror at her feet, still unbroken. Of course, the enchantress had made the mirror unbreakable. But if the mirror was still intact...

Alix twisted her head to get a good look at the shattered bell jar whose pieces fanned out from where it had fallen. The rose, which should have sat in the middle of the destruction, was nowhere to be seen.

"Genevieve, what are you doing?" Ger asked exasperatedly and Alix turned again to look at Genevieve, who was holding the rose between thumb and forefinger and gazing at it in confusion.

Alix struggled to her feet. "Give that back!" she said in a voice that tried, but did not entirely succeed in concealing her panic.

"Funny," said Genevieve, twirling the rose, "What an odd thing to keep under glass. It's pretty, no doubt, but just a bauble." She looked up at Alix, malice written all over her perfect features. "Would you like it back?"

There was no good answer to that, including not answering at all. Alix bit her lip and held out her hand. "Please?"

Genevieve smiled. "As you wish." And she calmly grabbed hold of as many petals as she could and ripped them out of the rose.

"Stop it!" Alix yelled and bounded towards her, but she stumbled as she landed on her injured left arm and fell to the floor. Genevieve flung the shower of rose petals at Alix and took off at a run, methodically ripping out petal after petal as she ran and letting them fall to the floor.

"Alix, what is it?" Ger asked, going to her side, but she was already up and running, on two legs rather than four, which made her clumsy and off-balance.

There was no time to explain, Alix thought. And even if there was, what could she possibly say? She had to get to Genevieve and get the rose away from her before she pulled out the last petal.

Alix had always wondered, especially a year or two ago when things had seemed particularly bleak and hope a truly pernicious sort of demon, whether she should just rip all the petals out of the rose and see if that would seal her fate immediately and free her from endlessly waiting for a prince who would never come. She had never planned to follow through with that nigh-on suicidal plan, partially because she was not sure whether a life without hope would really be an improvement on her current lot, but mostly because she was not sure what sort of effect it would have on the curse. Were the rose petals simply a way for her to mark time or were they inextricably bound up with the curse itself? What would happen if the last petal were to be ripped out?

She had never really cared about the answer before, as she had never really planned to pull out the petals—it was a destructive act with such a possibility for catastrophe that even in her most maudlin moments, she never seriously considered it, but now that academic exercise was becoming dangerously relevant. For the first time, Alix desperately wanted to have the next three and a half years of her life. Which meant getting to Genevieve before the idiot woman managed to rip off every single chance Alix had left.

All of this took barely a moment to race through her mind as she dashed down the hall, her wounded arm clenched close to her chest and her feet trampling rose petals into the carpet as she followed the trail of her rapidly disappearing future down the halls.

Genevieve realized she had crossed some sort of line as soon as the first petals came free in her hand. In her own way, she was delighted about it. That moment when they were looking through her as if she did not even matter was too terrible to even think about. On the other hand, she was not entirely thrilled about the fact that she was being chased down the hall by the monster who was moving rather quickly despite its injuries.

But that was alright, Genevieve realized. She did not need to get away from the Beast, she just had to lure it down the stairs to where the villagers were waiting. Genevieve began to run faster, now that she had a coherent plan worked out. All she needed to do was bring the Beast to her little army downstairs, who had undoubtedly taken care of those pesky protesting objects by now, and let them do what she had brought them here to do. She hoped she would be able to watch Ger's face as the Beast fell down, dead with a bullet through its chest.

Genevieve was tugging mechanically at the rose petals, her distracted hands needing something to do while her feet dashed down the corridor and her mind wandered off in daydreams of her impending victory.

Alix could not see the rose, all she could see was Genevieve's back, but the sheer number of petals scattered across the halls suggested that there wasn't much time left. As she pushed open the door at the end of the final corridor, Alix put on a burst of speed and snagged the back of Genevieve's dress with her claws.

The fabric ripped and Genevieve whirled around with a screech.

"I have had enough of you," Alix panted, darting forward to try and grab the pathetic looking rose that now had all of five bedraggled petals still attached to the stem.

"The feeling is mutual." Genevieve snapped, pulling away and pulling off another two petals, out of spite, as Alix struggled to regain her balance. They had passed through the final door and were standing atop the landing that looked down into the front hall below them.

Genevieve glanced quickly over her shoulder, just to make sure that her army was massing and getting ready to shoot down the monster. She was shocked out of her complacency, however, when she looked down and noticed a distinct lack of army. There were no villagers to be seen, just a gaggle of objects huddling en masse in the center of the room. She could not tell what they were doing. Some seemed to be leaping up and down in delight, while others were obviously otherwise occupied.

Genevieve was so startled by the sight below her that she spent just a second too long looking away before turning her attention back to the Beast.

And in that moment Alix struck, catching at Genevieve's hand and grabbing for the rose.

The objects down below were, at that point, still unaware of their audience. Some of the less wounded and younger of the bunch were still celebrating their victory, if only by patting each other on what passed for their shoulders and grinning foolish grins. But Lumiere and Cogsworth had already moved forward and were surveying the damage.

It was hard to know whether things looked good or not. It seemed strange, now that they thought about it, but for over seven years, no one in the castle had sustained any injuries. There had been no injudicious tumbles down stairs or bruises from heavy furniture (perhaps because those who would have been bruised had now become the heavy furniture). This was, Cogsworth reflected, not normal for a household of this size, even one so pared down as Her Grace's in exile. There were still housemaids with stubbed toes, kitchen boys with cut fingers, all those little things that could and did go wrong on a regular basis.

It was a bit daunting to have seven years of injuries strike all at once.

Cogsworth was running around, shouting at everyone to keep calm, which they were all doing already. Lumiere was directing a cadre of mostly undamaged couches as they collected up limbs that had been hacked off or broken bits of glass.

Babette watched the proceedings from further away. She wanted to help, but the sight of so much damage made her squeamish. She, like the rest of the staff, knew which objects were originally people and which ones had merely taken on mobility when the spell had been cast. It had taken a while during those first confusion-wracked days to sort everyone out, but they had eventually accounted for the entire human staff. That had left any number of plates, cups, suits of armor, hair pins and the like, all of whom could move around and obey directions, but who seemed to lack any basic personality. It had seemed as though, as a side effect of the castle and its inhabitants being put under the spell, the human beings became objects and what had once been completely ordinary objects had become just a little bit like human beings.

Fortunately, most of the damage had happened to this latter category of objects. It would have been far worse the other way around, looking at the maids or boot-boys who had been under her care for so many years lying there in pain on the floor. For they could feel pain, even if not quite the way they had when they were human. She hoped many of the broken brooms and mops could be repaired, but since they had never been alive in the first place, she more fervently hoped that they did not feel anything at all.

Babette steeled up her courage—as the head housemaid, she knew it was her duty to go and try and offer what comfort she could. They depended on her; especially the younger ones, and she should be there to help.

Babette swept across the floor to the side of a stone vase who had been a beautiful young maid before she had been transformed. She was staring rather hopelessly down at a large chunk of her rim that had been broken off by the blast from a blunderbuss.

Babette came and leaned tentatively against the girl. "Mademoiselle Rocher?" she said gently.

The vase turned and shook her head sadly. "It does not hurt much," she said in a quiet voice. "It aches like a part of my body has gone missing, but it does not really hurt."

"I am sorry, chérie," said Babette, not quite sure what to say.

There was nothing to say.

Fortunately, nothing more needed to be said, as all eyes on the ground floor turned upwards at the sound of a shriek.

The shriek had come from Genevieve's mouth as she grappled with Alix, trying to pry the Beast's hands off the rose. It had seemed such a little thing when Genevieve had first grabbed the blossom, but now she was damned if she would let it go without a fight, not now that she has seen just how much power it afforded her over the creature.

Genevieve had one hand still wrapped around the flower's stem, while the other clawed at Alix's hand. Alix hissed in pain and pulled away, without letting go of the rose. Genevieve snarled angrily and pulled back as hard as she could.

This was, in retrospect, possibly the worst thing she could have done. Alix was taken by surprise as Genevieve nearly yanked the rose out of her grasp, pulling much harder than she needed to. Alix fell forward into Genevieve, shoving them both against the gilded balustrade that began at the top of the stairs.

The wooden guardrail was sturdy enough to take even the combined weight of Alix and Genevieve, but it was too low to do much good. Genevieve screamed as the weight of Alix falling against her shoulder made her lose her balance and sent her over the top, leaving her dangling with nothing but her hand clawing at Alix's wrist and Alix's own precarious balance to keep her from falling. She let go of the rose to try and get a firmer grip on Alix's hand.

"Help me!" she begged, her voice cracking with terror.

Alix didn't even notice the rose as it fell out of Genevieve's grip and tumbled to the hard stone floor. She was too busy trying to grab on to Genevieve's other wrist and bracing herself so as not to go toppling off as well. Genevieve was already clinging to her, but the woman's grip was slipping and Alix was afraid she would fall. For a very brief and terrifying moment, Alix imagined what it would be like to let go. It was a heady thought, but also bone chilling, to think that she had the power to just let this woman die.

And yet, Alix knew better than that. She could not refuse to help this time. Alix shook her head and leaned forward to get a firmer grip on Genevieve's wrist.

"You're hurting me!" Genevieve shouted, then added, in terror, "Don't let go!"

"I won't," Alix promised, her grip tightening. And she didn't.

Once Alix got her hand tightly around Genevieve's wrist, the other girl let go of her grip on Alix and reached up to try and pull herself up using Alix's fur.

"No, don't!" Alix yelped as Genevieve pulled at the fur. "I'll pull you up, just wait!"

But Genevieve could not wait. She was too scared to fall and too afraid to trust. She caught hold of Alix's bruised shoulder and Alix screamed as the weight became too much.

The entire affair felt as though it lasted hours, even though barely seconds had passed since they'd rounded the corner.

"Stop!" Alix roared as Genevieve's shifting and climbing overbalanced her. "No, stop!"

Ger, hearing the screams, rounded the corner just in time to watch Alix's tail disappear over the edge of the balustrade. There was a moment of absolute silence, before he heard the sound of a sickening crack.

Alix and Genevieve were sprawled, unmoving, on the cold stone floor: Genevieve lay on her back, her head twisted at an unnatural angle, while Alix had landed almost catlike, her paws hitting first, which left her resting on her stomach with one arm broken beneath her and the other pressing down on a wilted rose with just one petal left.

_**T.B.C.**_

A/N – Finally! I have been worried about this scene since the first chapter of this story because I had no idea how it was going to work. This was the first problem I had thought of while trying to regender the story—that the final battle would _have_ to be changed—and it just never got solved.

I got lucky – this whole climactic scene turned out to be one of those things that (more or less) works itself out as you go as long as you (meaning me) are willing to sit there and write and hope the words happen. Leap of faith, much?

Alright, so, I was really trying to avoid a catfight between Alix and Genevieve, but I still needed there to be some reason for Genevieve to fall (between the fact that this retelling is, as much as it is anything else, an homage to the original, and the fact that the symbolism in the fall is too hard to pass up). It took me a really long time to work out how that would happen. The other thing I wanted to at least touch on was the idea that the spell could be artificially ended early. Whether ripping out the rose petals will do so or not is unknowable, but the threat to Alix's future was the only thing that could goad her to chase Genevieve and create a battle between them that parallels Beast and Gaston's battle for Belle...except here they're battling for Alix's future.

After that, it was just a matter of everything slowly (dear God, slowly) falling into place. And I think it did. This chapter is shorter than some of the others, except I absolutely had to end it here. It just worked so well. And, you know, I could never resist a cliffhanger.

See you all next week for what I think will be the penultimate chapter.


	24. Love, Loss, Hope, Repeat

**Chapter 24**

_Love, Loss, Hope, Repeat_

"Oh, no," Ger breathed as he stared down at the sight Alix lying on the ground. He could not look at Genevieve, body outstretched like Christ on the cross, without wanting to retch. It was impossible to take in such a sight and not realize that she was dead; no one's neck could be twisted at that angle and still be alive. Ger did not wish to look.

And he had more pressing things to worry about. He ran down the stairs at top speed, skidding to a halt at the bottom and turning around to go and kneel by Alix's side.

"Alix," he breathed, dropping down and reaching out to her. He wanted desperately to touch her and feel her warm skin and reassure himself that she was alive, but he was scared to hurt her. But after a fall such as that, he assumed that everything must hurt. "Alix, I-"

She groaned, then cried out very softly. "Oww."

"Don't try and move," Ger murmured, letting his hand steal out to stroke her fur. "Just stay still."

"I'm sorry," she said through clenched teeth, taking a rattling breath between each word. "I didn't mean to fall."

"Oh, Alix," Ger said helplessly. "It's..." he was going to say alright, but that would have been ridiculous. Maybe it would be alright, eventually, but there was no way to know. What use was philosophy at a moment like this, he should have trained in medicine! Then he could at least do something more useful than petting her hair and searching for something, anything to say.

"It's alright," she said for him, her voice still low and hard to hear, not just because she seemed unable to turn her head. "I'm just...glad you came back."

"I promised I would," Ger said, shifting over so that he could try and see her face. "Alix, I would never leave you."

She laughed ever so slightly, but stopped as it sent a shudder of pain through limbs and organs that were already suffering more than their fair share. Of course, he tells her this now, when she's moments away from leaving him.

But there were worse times to die, she tried telling herself. Now that the terror of the fall was over and everything was just wrapping itself in a fog of pain, her mind felt curiously free of it all and wandered off where it pleased. She could have died without ever having met Ger, without ever having done a single good deed in her entire life.

Alright, it was not exactly a consolation to know that you were fatally injured trying to save someone else when that person was lying next to you, already dead (and not really the sort of person commonly considered worth saving in any case). Actually, come to think of it, this was a particularly horrible time to die. Ger was back, he clearly cared for her at least a little bit, judging by the muffled sniffles she was hearing.

She fought to return to consciousness to try and comfort him. "Don't cry," she mumbled. "Please don't cry."

That only made it worse, as far as Ger was concerned. "Please don't die," he replied, his voice sounding very low and far away to Alix's ears, like a small, lost child. She wanted to tell him everything was going to be fine, but it seemed her mouth wasn't working right anymore and she just couldn't keep her eyes open long enough.

"Please," Ger repeated, but Alix could no longer hear him as she slid into unconsciousness. She felt as though she could no longer find her way back to him and, even if she could, the road was just too far.

"Alix," he said, wanting to shake her, scream, do anything to bring her back. "Alix, you can't leave me here...not yet. Remember, you promised me another dance! And you promised you would read Descartes with me." Ger bent lower and, knowing that this was probably inappropriate behavior towards a lady and not caring, laid his cheek against Alix's.

"I'm not ready," he confessed, stroking her soft, velvety ear. "I'm not ready to let go."

It seemed like such a supreme waste to say it now, and Ger hated himself for not telling Alix sooner, but perhaps there was still a little bit of Alix left, still a little bit listening and maybe she would hear him and understand. He couldn't let her die without knowing.

"Alix, I love you," he murmured, reaching out to hold on to her hand, the one that was not broken. In doing so, he knocked against the rose, now entirely neglected, and jarred loose the final petal.

"I love you," he repeated, closing his hand over her own and letting his tears fall down into the fur of her neck.

The roomful of objects were watching in stunned silence from a distance—had been since Genevieve's first shout—and only now began to creep forward to look. They had seen the two women fall, but the enormity of the situation had barely begun to set in yet. It was as though Ger's overwhelming grief subsumed their own and allowed them to just stand there in shock and horror, letting his tears speak for their dry cheeks. They could not believe what they saw and yet how could they deny it, torn between sadness for their mistress and the dawning realization that all their hopes and dreams had been shattered as surely as the body of the poor girl Alix had been trying to save. It was over.

Neither Ger nor the objects were paying any attention to Genevieve, though her body lay less than a foot away from Alix. They did not even notice when a small figure darted out of the shadows and began to shake Genevieve by the shoulders.

Laliene was not so foolish as to not know what had happened, but she didn't know what else to do. Her idol was gone. It was as though the sun had, sometime around high noon, disappeared behind a cloud and had never come back out again. Shaking Genevieve would not bring her back, but it made Laliene feel a bit less helpless. Only a bit, though.

She sat down and cradled Genevieve's head in her lap, snuffling loudly and swiping at her nose with her sleeve. It wasn't fair.

Ger's words did not go wholly unnoticed by Alix, even if she could not truly hear what he had said, she had the vague feeling that it had been something of importance and that she should smile, if her jaws would consider moving that way. But it didn't really matter anymore.

Her eyes were closed and light seemed to dance beyond them, a glimmer that either shone through the lashes or was, perhaps, the proverbial glow of the afterlife that others had written of, the shining light at the end of the tunnel. Alix felt strangely weightless, as though her body, with all of its screaming nerves and thudding pains, was slowly fading away to be replaced by a calm, placid feeling of wellbeing.

Dying didn't feel all that bad, she mused, then wondered just how much of her was left to do the musing. She floated on air, or seemed to, it was hard to tell given that her own corporeality was questionable at the moment. If she were Ger, she would probably be trying to experiment with it, open her eyes and see what it looked like, except she doubted that she had eyes at the moment.

Ger. The thought of him made her chest ache in a way completely different than her faded wounds. It seems death was only the end to physical pain, not emotional. Which, to Alix, seemed a bit unfair. If pain was supposed to stop at death, she should be able to think of Ger without that tightening in her chest.

The very thought of him made her feel heavier, as if she was no longer suspended in the air, but rather had returned to the ground. And the ground was uncomfortable. Which, again, seemed to be unfair.

It didn't help that her arm was twisted under her back in a distinctly unpleasant position. Groaning, she shifted and, in a sudden flash of dual realization, became aware of the fact that she could move her arm and, more importantly, that she had an arm and not a foreleg.

Her eyes flew open. She was lying on the floor of the castle, face pressed against the stone and cheek feeling slightly squished. She pushed herself up and looked down at her left hand, which she distinctly remembered having first cut, then bruised, then broken. It seemed fine now.

Well, fine was not quite the operative word. It was a human hand. For the first time in nearly eight years, she was staring down at her own, pale fingers. Fingers that ended in fingernails, rather than claws. They were attached to a human palm, rather than a paw, which segued into a human wrist and went all the way up to a human elbow before the ragged and overlarge remains of the dress that she was wearing covered the rest of her presumably human body.

It was the dress, more than anything else, that convinced her that she was alive. Seeing herself as a human again, her first thought was that she was in heaven (which, for reasons unknown, looked suspiciously like the Chateau du Lac) and this was her reward for having done something right during her lifetime. But if this were heaven, God and his ministering angels could have at least found her something better to wear.

She looked down at the stained, soiled dress she had been wearing since she'd taken off the ball gown yesterday evening. Her hands pressed against the fabric of the dress, feeling a human stomach beneath the bodice. Her hands then flew to her hair, which hung in long tendrils around her face. It was darker than she had remembered it being, more of a light brown than blonde, but with hints of red. Then she was back to staring at her hands, still marveling that they were hers. She stood up slowly, finding it odd to stand up straight, her knees suddenly bent in a different direction than before. She had forgotten about that.

She had forgotten about much, but at least she did not fall over when she looked down and noticed Laliene's round face gazing up in blank surprise at her. Resting in Laliene's lap was Genevieve's unmoving form, a sickening reminder of what had just happened and possibly the last sight on earth Alix would ever have wanted to see. This could not be heaven, not with all these other people here. But if they were here, did that mean she wasn't dead?"

Alix took two stumbling steps backwards and turned away, only to come face to face with Ger, who was staring at her with unmitigated alarm written all over his features.

Oh no, Alix thought miserably, I've grown up ugly!

"Ger," she said, looking up at him. It was strange to find, suddenly, that his face was significantly further away than it had been before. They had been of a height when she was a Beast, but now she was just about level with his collarbone and had to look up to see his eyes. "Ger, I..."

"Who...what?" he stammered, both reaching out to her and pulling back. "What happened? Where's Alix?"

Alix blinked up at him. "Right here," she answered, and then realized the problem. Ger had no idea about the spell, how would he know? It was not as though she could ever have spoken to him about it. She wondered what it must have looked like to Ger, her sudden transformation from beast to human. She hoped it hadn't been anything too terrible, like all of her fur falling out at once.

"I'm Alix," she said, raising her hand to touch his face, which was tearstained.

Ger looked at, disbelievingly. "I don't...understand," he said softly.

Of all of the problems Alix had envisioned, back in the days when she had still fantasized about being rescued, this was not one of them. Ger had to believe her! After all, she was alive, she was human again and if she was human again, that meant...

Well, that meant he loved her, didn't it?

She wracked her brains for something to say. "It's me," she repeated, feeling a fool. "Ger, I...I'll prove it to you! Remember that snowball fight we had, and the time that we had dinner and you upset the soup spoon by accidentally using the dessert spoon first, or the time we were reading Geoffery of Monmouth and you insisted on reading it in a British accent and Cogsworth thought you poking fun at him. I wouldn't know any of that if I wasn't Alix, would I?" He was still looking at her, almost expressionless, his beautiful eyes never once turning away. "Ger, you dolt!" she cried, "It's-"

She didn't get to finish her sentence. Ger, whose face had not so much been expressionless as desperately trying not to laugh and cry at the same time, swooped down and pulled her into his arms, burying his face in her hair. She could not tell whether he was laughing or crying. Neither could he.

"Oh, God," he said, holding her as tightly as he could. "I thought you died. Alix, I thought I lost you, and then..."

He pulled back. "What the hell just happened?"

Alix laughed weakly. "It's a bit of a long story."

Ger looked at her skeptically, a raised eyebrow inviting her to go on.

"Your Grace!" came an excited voice from the opposite side of the room, "Your Grace, look!" It was Cogsworth, dashing towards them, except it was not the Cogsworth of the small clock, but rather the short and rather rotund major domo she remembered from her much younger years. Though he seemed shorter than he had been then, which may have been due to the fact that she had grown somewhat since eleven.

Closely on his heels followed the long and lanky maitre'd and, right behind him, in what seemed a rush of excited humanity, came the entire palace staff. Alix could not help herself and laughed delightedly to see them all returned to normal and none the worse for wear.

It was a miracle, or so Lumiere thought. The men and women of the household were not only transformed, but healed as well. They leapt up and down for the sheer joy of having legs and Lumiere reveled in his newfound humanity by grabbing a hold of his paramour and nearly bending her double before kissing her soundly on the mouth.

Ger, observing this action, realized that Lumiere had the right idea and that the explanations, and he was sure that they would be both long and fascinating, could wait a moment or two. After all, what was the point of having the woman of his dreams in his arms if he was not going to kiss her?

And so he did.

Alix was stunned for all of half a second, before she flung her arms around his neck and kissed him back. Now, things were going exactly as she would have liked them to.

Ger pulled back just far enough to look at Alix again. "I love you," he said, then added "You know that, right?"

Alix couldn't help but snicker. "Yes," she replied, "I had noticed."

"Good," said Ger. "I always knew you were perceptive."

They kissed again, so wrapped up in not being dead and not having to leave one another that they scarcely noticed anything else going on around them, which included the transformation of the entire castle, both of the staff and of the actual appearance of the place, which returned to its original white marble façade.

Laliene, however, did notice and shook her head vehemently before looking back down at Genevieve's lifeless features. Everyone else was getting better, even the ugly castle! Why wasn't Genevieve? Laliene patted her friend's hand. "I hope you're be back soon," she said.

It didn't seem safe here, with all the happy people coming over and shaking Ger's hand and bowing to the pretty lady (though she was not as pretty as Genevieve) and some of them were even trying to hug her, though it was clear that she was a great lady and not used to be hugged. What if they didn't notice Genevieve and accidentally stepped on her? Or worse, what if the magic, for magic it had to be, missed her in the general rush?

Laliene grabbed Genevieve's body under both arms and dragged it away to a more secluded place, right by the doors. And there she waited, still unnoticed. But that's alright. She was used to waiting. All that mattered now was waiting until the magic came to fix Genevieve too.

It was Alix who first noticed her late adversary's absence. Her first thought was one of horror, that Genevieve had survived after all and had left to regroup her forces for another attack. She looked around worriedly.

Ger noticed her sudden distraction (he was spending so much time just looking at her face and memorizing her new features, it was impossible for him to miss the sudden alteration) and looked around as well, though he was not quite sure what he was meant to be looking for.

"What is it?" he asked.

"Genevieve," Alix answered, finally catching sight of the figures in the shadows. There had been some blood on the floor, but not as much as Alix had expected, and if there had been any trail, it had been wiped away by the long skirts of Genevieve's dress. She had only perceived Laliene at all because the girl shifted, the better to rest comfortably against a pillar.

Ger looked at Alix, who looked back at Ger, who shrugged. What could they do?

"Who is she?" Alix asked.

"Her name is Laliene," Ger answered. "She follows...err, followed Genevieve everywhere, I have no idea why."

Alix shuddered. The sight of the Laliene with the corpse made her feel queasy. "Should someone tell her that Genevieve is..."

"Dead?" Ger finished for her and Alix winced. She had not meant to let the other girl fall. It was not her fault, she supposed, but it still made her cringe to remember the blind panic in Genevieve's face and her own inability to hold on. What else could she have done? Alix wondered. She had expected to deliriously happy when the curse had finally broken, at least during those days when she had expected it to break at all. She had not, could not have anticipated the sick, emptiness she was feeling right now. She was supposed to be thinking about Ger and nothing else, the feel of him standing behind her with one arm resting gently, but still possessively on her shoulder.

The thought made her turn ever so slightly red with pleasure, but it was nowhere near enough to dispel the strange tremor she felt at the thought and sight of Genevieve's lifeless body. She had not liked the woman, had hated her for a few brief moments, may have even wished her dead once or twice, but now that she was, all Alix could think about was whether she had let her die.

"Are you alright?" Ger asked and Alix realized she was crying.

"Yes," she answered, then thought about it. "No...I don't know."

"Why don't we go somewhere else," Ger suggested, on the one hand being wholly in love with the woman in front of him and on the other having absolutely no idea how to comfort her. He had never been good at this sort of thing. He tried a smile, which was not hard as he was still riding the euphoria of learning that Alix had not died after all, and laid a hand on the small of her back. "You promised me an explanation for this whole...thing," he ended lamely.

This whole thing, Alix thought, wondering just how much that encompassed. "We should still do something," she said. Briefly, Alix entertained the idea of going to speak to her, but knew almost immediately that she could not. The thought of it turned her stomach.

Ger thought about it as well. He took a deep breath. "I'm probably the last person she wants to see right now, but I could try to-"

Alix shook her head and stopped him. "No, I don't think it should be you," she replied. "Maybe she just needs time."

Alix walked deliberately away from the scene, turning her back on the other girl and moving towards the kitchen. Laliene wasn't the only one who needed time. It was strange, having spent so much time in these halls that had been so familiarly dark and ominous, she felt almost uncomfortable looking up at the pale facade and light stone. She made her way to the library, which had been the least altered of all the rooms and had always been a comfortable place for her. Ger, inevitably, followed with one last look back towards Laliene.

Laliene watched them leave and, finally, closed her eyes and wept. It was as though that was the sign for her that Genevieve was truly dead and would not be coming back. Laliene didn't understand why even the furniture got changed into people, but there was no magic for Genevieve. If anyone deserved to live no matter what, it was Genevieve.

She couldn't just leave her here, was Laliene's first thought, after she wiped her nose on her sleeve. Genevieve wouldn't like that. She had to bring her back to the village; that was what she would have wanted.

It felt strange to Laliene to be carrying Genevieve, who had always been taller than she, but the other girl was so light and, even if she had been twice the weight of the heaviest blacksmith, Laliene would have done it anyway. She carried her out the door, unmolested by the few members of the staff who were still lounging around the site of their most recent triumph.

They watched, silently, as Laliene walked slowly by, one or two even taking their hats off respectfully, struck more by the lost look on Laliene's face than by Genevieve's body. And then she was gone and the castle doors swung shut behind them both.

Alix slumped down in her favorite chair and ran her fingers lightly along the long grooves that had been scratched into the furniture over the better part of a decade. Ger grabbed a stool and caught himself as he looked down to check if it was alive and might object to his cavalier treatment of it. Both he and Alix laughed as they realized what he had been doing.

He straddled the stool. "So," Ger said, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees and his chin in his hands, "What all this?"

And Alix told him.

Ger was not a good audience, always interrupting her with questions about events that she had not gotten to yet and asking her to explain things like _how_ the enchantress changed from harridan to angel or why it was a rose and not any other flower. Or an almanac, he had opined. A self-turning almanac would have been a far better choice.

Alix had rolled her eyes at him. "I'll let her know that, in case I ever see her again. And, if God is gracious, I never will. It was not a pleasant experience."

Ger raised an eyebrow.

"It was like waking up every morning in hell," Alix said honestly. "Just seeing myself and knowing what I looked like and knowing that, regardless of how much I had hated society, I was now lost to it forever and having to live with myself, day after day after day. And it never got any better."

Ger took her hands and chafed them. "Never?" he said softly.

Alix smiled. "Well, hardly ever. It's over now, for which I am profoundly grateful. I never truly expected the spell to be broken."

Ger gave her a skeptical look. "Oh, there were many nights when I hoped and dreamed and prayed, but I never actually expected."

"I suppose it might have helped to have left the castle," Ger mused aloud. "The chances of eligible men stumbling in here are pretty low." He paused.

Alix glared at him. "Dear," she said with a smile that, despite all physical evidence to the contrary, seemed positively fanged, "If you have any more helpful advice, might I suggest you keep it to yourself?"

Ger burst out laughing and, after a moment, Alix did as well.

They sat long into the night, just talking about the spell, about magic (Ger was trying ascertain whether it might have a scientific basis and Alix forbade him ever going out and getting bespelled in the pursuit of scientific inquiry), about each other and about their future.

The servants were almost all perfectly happy to work around them. Lumiere passionately wished to throw a banquet in honor of the spell having broken, but Mrs. Potts informed him that there would be no such thing, no, not even a small one, and that the staff needed rest, not to mention a chance to relearn what it meant to be human before they resumed all their duties.

She was right, of course, and she supervised the making of a simple dinner with what turned out to be a necessary eagle-eye as the kitchen lad handling the knife nearly lost a finger, not being used to having to keep digits out of the way anymore. Chip sat perched in a chair in the corner, unmoving. His mother had given him the scolding of a lifetime, then added that if he even so much as stirred from where he sat, she would see to it that he could not sit for a week. Maurice had taken pity on the boy, who was clearly desperate to be running around and trying out his newly returned legs, and had sat down next to him to tell him stories. Maurice, of course, would much rather go off and find Ger, but about half of the staff had already assured him that he was perfectly fine and there was no need to fret or run off and find him, so Maurice resignedly settled back to wait. Ger would come in his own time and Maurice was eager, or if not eager, decidedly interested in hearing what his son had to say.

He looked down at Chip, who was fidgeting.

"Don't worry," he said reassuring, with a surreptitious look at Mrs. Potts, "I'm sure that tomorrow, you'll be allowed to run around as much as you please."

Chip smiled, revealing his missing front tooth, the first and only of his baby teeth to fall out, seven years ago. "Yeah," he said a bit dreamily, "Tomorrow."

_**T.B.C.**_

And that's almost it. One more chapter, which is more epilogue than chapter anyway, and then we're done. Dear God, what will I do with my time? Oh right, that novel that's been languishing...or maybe that _other_ novel that's been languishing. Just don't let me start another fanfic for another year, please!

My fanfics are like my cross-stitches. I tend to assume they'll take about 6 months to complete and they end up taking three years.

For those of you who wanted the grandeur of the transformation scene, might I recommend watching the original? I love that scene and I adore that music (I walked down to it at my wedding, actually) so I had no desire to try to recreate in text. So I figured I might as well answer the question of what it might have felt like from the Beast's perspective. Far more boring, it seems.

And while I'm aware that a substantial number of you really hate Genevieve, I did feel like someone had to mourn her. Also, while Gaston had the decency to fall _outside_, I had to get Genevieve off the floor and she wasn't going to do it herself. This is why Shakespeare had his actors stagger off the stage while dying and shout "I am slain!" from the wings. Also also, Laliene ended up a far more pathetic character than Lefou even was and it just seemed right to give her a chance to say goodbye.

There are still a few more ends to tie up, but we're mostly at the end. ::Hums Les Miz:: One more doc, one more page...One Page More!

Well, more like seven. But still.


	25. When Worlds Collide

**Epilogue**

_When Worlds Collide_

Alix stood before the mirror and bit her lip. Babette stood further back, one hand resting on her hip as they both surveyed the maid's handiwork. True, it was not Babette's handiwork alone, but she had led the charge into Alix's wardrobe in search of a gown fit for a princess and, more importantly, a gown that the princess would fit. Most of the dresses that had languished for so long in the castle dressing rooms had belonged to Alix's mother, back when she had been a young woman and first caught the eye of the grand and dashing Prince. Alix was shorter than her mother and differently shaped to boot—the Princess Georgiana had been tall, willowy and blond, while Alix leaned more towards short, darker haired and hourglass-shaped. Babette had pointed out, not altogether tactfully, that the extra material from the hem could be used to enlarge the bust, but Alix had refused and, when pressed for a reason, answered that it was because could not bear the thought of cutting up her mother's dresses, even for such an important cause as making sure she was well turned out today.

In the end, Babette despairingly suggested that they cut down the dress Alix had worn to her private ball with Ger and Alix readily acquiesced.

"What is wrong?" the ex-featherduster asked, noticing that her princess did not seem quite as pleased as Babette had anticipated. She advanced on Alix with a decidedly swishy motion. "You look lovely, _tres magnifique!_"

Do I? Alix asked her reflection silently. It didn't answer. Babette seemed convinced, but Alix, after years of hating the mirror, was not so sure if she was ready to trust it. It was not even that she disliked the figure in the mirror – Alix may not have been the most beautiful woman in seven kingdoms, but she was certainly attractive – it was just that the figure in the mirror somehow didn't seem to fit with how she saw herself. A side effect of having spent so long covered in fur, Alix assumed. It made her feel antsy in her own skin.

"You still need a tiara," Madame de la Grande Bouche reminded her. Alix had already donned her mother's sapphires and, this time, she had picked out the matching rings, bracelets and earrings to wear as well.

Her long, curls were piled up and artfully arranged on her head in a style that was just shy of gravity-defying. One pin out of place and Alix was sure the whole thing would come toppling down. Babette had cautiously suggested a wig, as rumors from the world outside the Chateau du Lac intimated that they were just coming into style for women in order to achieve hair styles that were, as Babette had put it, beyond belief. Alix, thinking of what Ger would say if she came in wearing a wig of any sort, much less of the extravagant kind that were being suggested, firmly vetoed the idea. Her hair was more than long enough for what was needed.

Alix looked at the two tiaras resting on their cushions in front of her. Once again, it was down to diamonds or waves. Perhaps she should just close her eyes and point.

There was a quiet knock on the door.

"Who is it?" Alix called out. She heard her not-yet-father-in-law's voice and left her boudoir with its shining mirrors to meet him in her sitting room.

"Ger sent me," he said by way of explanation. "He wanted to make sure everything was alright." It was a fair concern, she was supposed to have been downstairs with Ger, waiting for the arrival of her aunt and entourage over half an hour ago.

"Everything's fine," Alix said, wishing she could manage to sound a bit more convinced. "I just can't decide which tiara to wear." She winced. Now she sounded like a petulant infant.

Maurice laughed a little. "My late wife tended to have a similar problem," he added, once he saw the look on her face and needed to reassure Alix that he was not laughing at her. "Not with tiaras of course, but with indecision regarding clothing matters."

Silence lay between them, an awkwardness that neither felt able to dissipate by speaking further.

The past month had been an edifying experience for everyone, but especially for Alix and Maurice. Their first introduction had gone smoothly, both sides making painfully polite conversation while Ger looked on, clearly trying to ensure they got along by sheer force of will.

Alix was more than willing to try, but really, what was there to say? Sorry for locking you in the dungeon, I was having a bad five years?

Maurice, as far as Alix could tell, seemed to feel much the same way about the absence of possible ground on which to approach one another, although his coolness seemed to be slowly melting. Alix found him turning to watch her every so often, as if trying to make her out and finding her completely beyond his comprehension, even shaking his head at her once or twice.

She had asked Ger about it once, to see whether he could explain what his father was thinking.

"Don't worry," he had told her with a smile, to which Alix returned a skeptical look from beneath her eyebrows.

"And I'm not just saying that to mollify you, I truly believe you have nothing to worry about." Ger shrugged. "He'll come around in a little while, I just think he needs a chance to get used to you as you."

Ger was right, to a degree. Maurice was attempting to reconcile the quiet young woman whose two loves were books and his son with the monstrous beast he remembered—a monster who had, perhaps, been built up in his memory to a level she had never quite reached in real life. He looked for signs of that creature in her, catching them in a moment's irritation when she would dig her nails into the nearest surface and then withdraw them, ruefully. Or noticing when someone displeased her and a cutting remark would begin to make its way out of her mouth, only to be stopped and replaced with something that was, if not tactful, at least fair and not wholly destructive.

Maurice knew the content of a few of those remarks, as she had a habit of muttering them to herself as she walked away and he had caught one or two. She was witty, especially when she forgot that he was in the room and allowed herself to speak freely with Ger. She was funny as well, when Ger was around to draw her out. He did not even notice he was doing it, but she blossomed around him. There were moments when Maurice found himself forgetting that she had been the same person he had met on that dark, wet night.

Moments like this, for example, when she made him think of the daughter he and his wife had never had and he found himself responding in kind.

"Do you have a favorite?" Maurice asked, looking at the two tiaras.

Alix gestured to the plainer of the two. "That was my mother's favorite," she answered. "She always said the other one was too elaborate for her."

"But what about you?" Maurice replied after a moment spent trying to work out what Alix might actually have been saying. "Which one do you like best?"

Alix looked bleakly at them. "I can't tell," she answered finally. "I can't...separate them from what my mother thought of them." She took a deep breath. "They died when I was nine years old," she said, surprised at how calm her voice was. "My parents, that is. There was a fire. No one knows how it started." Alix stared almost blindly ahead. "My father carried me out," she continued, "And he told me Mama was right behind us, but then, once we were outside, she wasn't there anymore. He went back in to find her."

Maurice laid his hand atop hers and felt the tightly clenched muscles. He had not been expecting _this_. "My dear, I am sorry," he said quietly, the only thing he could say.

Alix nodded. "Sometimes, it's as though I can barely remember them. But then there are days like today, when I'm looking at her gowns and wearing her jewels and..." She trailed off.

Silence rested between them, settling in as though it belonged even as Alix struggled to say what she wished to say.

"I have not given them much to be proud of over the years," she finally continued. "I grew cold and spiteful after they died. Spiteful enough to turn away an old woman seeking shelter one night. I may have even deserved what she did to me, though I was young and foolish and did not know any better. I'm fairly sure she did not consider that enough of an excuse."

Maurice looked at Alix, uncomprehendingly.

"It appears that that old woman was an enchantress. She turned me into a Beast to teach me a lesson," Alix finished. " I was cursed to look like a monster until I could find someone to love and love me in return. Presumably, that would teach me to be the kind of person who could love and be loved despite looking like the unholy cross between a wolf, a lion and heaven only knows what else. It seems to have worked—I'm no longer the brat I was then. But it made me worse for quite a while afterward. It felt like fate, who had already dealt me a cruel blow with my parents, was now twisting the thumbscrews."

What could he say, he wondered, still looking at Alix who still stared resolutely at the jewels in her lap. And why was she telling him this?

"You were the first person to come to my door after that," Alix said, finally getting to the point. She had not quite meant the conversation to take this direction—she had not meant there to be a conversation with him now at all, but there were all these things that she had been meaning to say at some point, when the time was right. The time was probably not right, yet she found the words slipping out nonetheless. "And you frightened me. Admittedly, not as much as I'd frightened you, but you were so unexpected. And so human; I had not seen another human being in over seven years. This is not an excuse," she added hurriedly, "Just an explanation. I already told Ger all this, but you deserve to know too."

She did turn to face him them. "I am sorry, Monsieur Dupont," she said. "I know such words are inadequate, not to mention pathetic at this point, but I am sorry."

Maurice was flabbergasted, to say the least.

"Also," she added, "I probably could have picked a better time to have sprung my confessions on you." Though she was not entirely being honest there. Her confession had nothing to do with her present predicament, but it was a weight off her chest that she had been carrying around for so long, she did not even notice it until it was gone. "It just seemed as though it was time for you to know. Past time, really."

"Thank you," Maurice said finally. It was a lot to take in, even if it did clear up almost all of his questions about Alix. He was a kindhearted man, and her story resonated with him. He remembered, after all, how it had felt when his wife had died. If he hadn't had Ger then - someone who needed him - he did not know how he would have survived the experience. And for that to happen to a young girl who was old enough to understand what had happened, but not old enough to accept it, he could just imagine how she must have felt.

It was easy to forgive her, easier than he had thought it would be. He offered her a smile.

Alix accepted and smiled slightly back.

"So," she said, clearing her throat slightly, "Which one shall I wear?"

It took a moment for Maurice to remember what she could possibly be speaking about, but then he looked down at the tiaras, one in each of her hands, and his mind drifted back towards the original conversation.

"You still have not told me which one you like better," Maurice pointed out.

"The wave pattern," Alix answered, promptly this time, "But it seems, somehow, wrong to wear it." As if she was trying to resemble her mother, not remember her. It had been fine when she'd been a Beast, there had been no human form beneath the tiara to remind her of the last woman who had worn it. It had been a way for Alix to say 'Look, Mama, I'm doing something right!' But now that Alix was human again and minutes away from meeting her aunt for the first time in years, not to mention asking said aunt, who just so happened to be the Queen of France, for her blessings to marry, she rather wished that her mother was here with her, to look tall and imposing and beautiful so that Alix didn't feel like she was stepping into shoes far too big for her feet to fill.

She was not going to start crying, she told herself pointedly. Babette would never forgive Alix if she had to have all her makeup reapplied.

"You could wear neither," Maurice suggested finally.

Babette reemerged from Alix's dressing room at this point. She had come out a minute or two into Alix's confession, but immediately left so as not to interrupt a conversation that the servants, privately, thought needed to have happened weeks ago. Lumiere thought, and Babette agreed, that Alix had been avoiding her father-in-law-to-be unnecessarily, as the older man showed every sign of being much less frightened of her than would be expected. Babette had her own theory about this, one that seemed to be borne out by the way everyone else in the castle behaved. Her sharp eyes had observed a tendency to treat Alix as though she was not quite the same person she had been when she was bestial. It was as if her fellow servants had not so much forgotten the events, but dismissed them as belonging to not-quite-the-same entity as their current mistress.

And perhaps it was true—her Grace certainly seemed a reformed character and Babette had no doubt that, while Alix would always be just a little bit prickly and apt to judge, she was not the same girl she had been seven years or even seven weeks ago. Yet she was willing to bet that the only person who could still see the Beast when he looked at Alix was Ger...though perhaps it would be truer to say that the only person who had truly seen Alix when he looked at the Beast was Ger.

It was probably best that way, Babette mused. In any event, there were far more worrisome thoughts to occupy her mind, like the fact that her mistress was seriously considering Maurice's proposition that she not wear a tiara.

"She will most certainly not wear neither," Babette said, hurrying over. "That lovely hair of yours requires equally lovely jewels."

Alix sighed. "Which one do you recommend, then?"

"The diamonds," Babette replied promptly. "They are more beautiful by far and show off your face."

Alix looked dubiously at the winking gems, then back at the waves. Then back at the diamonds. Babette was looking at her exasperatedly, but was not going to insist on her choice, though she seemed tempted. Perhaps she could just close her eyes, spin around a few times and point.

"If I may make a suggestion," Maurice offered diffidently, "Perhaps there is something else you could wear instead, something more to your taste."

"Like what?" Babette and Alix asked at the same time, though the former's voice had a tone of disbelief that the latter's entirely lacked.

Maurice shrugged, and looked around the room as if it might provide him with inspiration. Alix and Babette did the same.

All three pairs of eyes came to a stop on the rose sitting on an end table in the middle of the room. Unlike its predecessor, it was an ordinary rose that sat in an ordinary crystal vase, neither levitating nor requiring a bell jar to shield it. Alix had requested a rose with which to decorate her suite, claiming that it looked empty without a flower there.

In reality, it was her own personal reminder of how far she had come and how dangerous it was to forget what she had been.

Alix's lips curled in a smile. "Excellent idea," she said, marching forward to take the vase.

Babette shook her head. "You will get water all over your gown," she said, well aware she was fighting a lost cause. "And it does not match. Red will never go with that shade of blue."

"Perhaps a white rose, then," Maurice replied, having seen the look on Alix's face and recognized what it meant to her.

Alix nodded. "I'm sure one of those can be procured, no?"

"As my mistress commands," Babette said, if a bit sulkily, as she returned the tiaras to their rightful places.

And, five minutes later, Babette had rearranged her hair (again) and tucked the white rose behind Alix's ear, securing it with a simple arrangement of two pins that Alix suspected she could not have duplicated on her own with twenty.

She studied herself in the mirror again. So this was who she was now—Alix, Princess of France. No great beauty, but no small one either. She would have to get used to her own appearance one day and be comfortable in her skin. It would have been nice to have been devastatingly lovely, though. Then again, Alix's mother had always said that a beautiful woman was one who held her head high and her back straight and believed firmly that she was beautiful. Alix could only imagine what her mother would have had to say to her now. She would probably have laughed, pulled a strand or two of hair free to frame her face, and sent Alix out of the room to face her fate with a smile. Well, Mother wasn't here anymore, so Alix was just going to have to do it herself. She straightened up and gave herself a pointed look. I will be beautiful, she said firmly to her own, still querulous thoughts, and turned to stride from the room.

"May I offer you my arm?" asked Maurice courteously.

"Thank you," Alix said, accepting gracefully and trying to ignore the fact that he was a full head shorter than she was and they must have looked rather silly.

Alix led Maurice, who was still occasionally getting a little lost in the castle, to the drawing room where Ger waited.

He had been sitting in there for close to an hour, trying to read and, more often than not, finding that the words on the page were inadequate distractions for his current state of mind. The past month had passed like a dream—admittedly, a very strange dream in which the last vestiges of magic were still fading from the castle and the staff was learning that they didn't always quite remember what it was to be human. Ger spent a lot of his time keeping Chip entertained, when he was not spending time with Alix, of course.

He grinned, then laughed at himself. Sooner or later, he would have to stop smiling every time her name came up. Or maybe not. He liked the idea of spending the rest of his life smiling whenever he said her name.

It seemed so strange, to think that he was in love with a Princess. Oh, he had not been such a fool as to think that Alix was not nobility – she was mistress of a castle and the servants did occasionally slip and address her by her title. But niece to the King of France? That had been higher than he had thought.

Yet Alix never really seemed to notice her own rank or, when she did, she viewed it as a necessary evil. When she'd been cursed, she had been far too young to have taken on any actual role in ruling her lands, but now...

What would they do?

They had, once or twice, discussed returning to Paris for their marriage, though Alix was manifestly in favor of getting married _first_ and then reappearing in court. Ger found the idea of Paris to be intriguing—he could return to University, except this time without any worries about paying for his rooms or board.

On the other hand, he liked this solitary life (as solitary as life with fifty odd servants could be) and was not sure if he was ready to give it up.

And then, of course, there was Alix. What sort of effect would these proposed changes to their lives have on their relationship? In some ways, he had to acknowledge, things were much easier when she had been a Beast and they could just spend all day having snowball fights and hot chocolate and enthusiastic discussions.

Though, presumably, hot chocolate and discussions could happen in Paris too. He doubted that snowball fights on the grounds of Versailles were acceptable, though.

This was not to say he was not glad she had been returned to her human form. It had saved a lot of awkward questions when the townspeople had returned to the castle and found it occupied by a grand Princess who gravely told them that the Beast had been killed and they did not need to avenge Genevieve.

Ger shook his head. Idiot girl. She almost deserved her death.

It was a relief to have left Molyneaux behind. He had been looking to escape that town ever since he set foot in it. Of course, he had not planned to do so by falling in love with an enchanted princess, but it worked.

Speaking of princesses, he heard the sound of approaching footsteps. He shut the book in his lap, not even bothering to mark the place – it was not as though he had actually been reading it – and rose to his feet.

"My lovely lady," he said, rising and bowing to her. Maurice stepped back a pace, ceding his place at Alix's side to its rightful owner.

"Stop it," she said irritably, though a small smile tugged at her lips.

"Well," he said, "Perhaps not officially mine yet, but you are undeniably lovely. Even lovelier than the last time I saw you in that dress."

Alix snorted. "No flirting in public," she scolded him even as she flushed with pleasure. "It's unbecoming."

"I wasn't flirting," Ger protested, "I was being truthful." He took her hand. "Thank heavens I'm so good looking, otherwise I'd feel a fool standing next to you."

"You are an arrogant twit," Alix said fondly, the lingering traces of nerves melting like winter snow in the face of Ger's approbation. And, after all, no one else really mattered.

"Yes, but you love me anyway," Ger answered with a laugh.

"Are you ready?" Alix asked him.

He made a face. "To meet your aunt and subject myself to familial scrutiny? I suppose so. If ever she makes it here."

As if on cue, there was a rap on the door and Lumiere poked his head in. "Her Majesty, Queen Marie of France has arrived."

Alix and Ger shared a glance. "Show her in," Alix said, her voice remaining (mostly) calm.

Ger squeezed Alix's hand. "Don't worry," he said with an affectionate smile. "The hard part is over, remember?"

Alix shook her head, but didn't reply. The hard part, as Ger put it so succinctly, had barely even begun. She had not dared to consider how awkward it would be to explain to her aunt what had been going on for the past seven years, or how she came to meet Ger, not to mention what would happen if her aunt were to insist on Alix marrying someone of her own rank. Alix hoped she wouldn't. At worst, she could always terrorize the woman again, but Alix liked to think she was above such tactics. Unless they were really necessary of course.

Don't go borrowing trouble, her father had always said. Wise advice, especially at moments like this.

"Alix," Ger said, his voice gentle as he turned and rested one hand on Alix's cheek. "I'm serious. We'll be fine."

"You promise?"

"I promise," he answered, and kissed her.

Inevitably, that was when Cogsworth announced "Her Majesty, Queen Marie of France," and Alix and Ger sprang apart like the guilty lovers they were.

Alix glared at Ger, who only winked back at her as the Queen strode regally into the room. An auspicious beginning indeed, Alix thought wryly as she walked forward to make her bows. But, it was, after all, just the beginning.

_**The End**_

Oh, hey, look! I finished it! Well, as far as it's going to allow itself to be finished. The goal of the epilogue is, as far as I can tell, to wrap up the actual loose ends of the story and sort of point in the direction that the story is going to take. And you would not believe how hard this chapter was to write. Ugh, it was like pulling teeth, trying to get the right words on the page. I think I wrote 15 pages worth of words over the course of the last five weeks and then cut 7 of them. Yeesh. Although the fact that it took me five weeks was another problem. I'm sure you're all bored of my perennial apologies for not being able to stick to my own schedules, but here's another one anyway. I'm sorry – I hadn't realized until after I posted the last chapter that I had no idea what the epilogue was going to be. Figuring that out took...blood, sweat and tears? Well, not blood. Sweat, tears and time, perhaps

Anyway, part of that cutting was, once I finally worked out that the epilogue is not necessarily going to be fully satisfying, in terms of happily ever after-ness, that it should, at least, provide some grounds for it, I had somewhere to go. It's as much closure as I could muster without wanting to tell the story of their marriage for the next god knows how many years. But that's not this story. This story, this chapter in their lives is over.

Wish them the best.

Any lingering questions can be directed towards me and I may even answer them.

In the meantime, thank you, thank you, thank you, to the many people over the past (Dear God) three years who have read, reviewed and enjoyed this story. I could not have finished it without your encouragement, your ideas and your kindness.

I hope you've enjoyed reading this story as much as I enjoyed writing it (and hopefully with less moments of hair-pulling torture than it occasionally gave me).

I remain, your obedient author,

Damian.


End file.
